Unacknowledged Desire
by lozzenger-3
Summary: Arizona, a third year med student, is assigned to tutor the troubled first year Calliope Torres. As their friendship develops, both feel something more, but will either have to courage to risk everything and admit to it?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: A/U. Arizona, Teddy, Mark, Derek and Owen are third year med students at the University of Washington, and Callie, Cristina, Meredith, Addison and Alex are first years. This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction. This chapter is fairly lighthearted but I know where I want this story to go, I've written some later chapters and it does get signficantly more angsty/dramatic later on!  
**

**CALLIE**

I wince internally as Cristina's shrill voice pierces through my head, distracting me of all thoughts and amplifying the pounding headache already beginning to form behind my eyes.

"Callie! Tequila! Just bring the bottle, none of this shot shit, you've been stiffing me all night. Don't think I haven't noticed that the shots are getting smaller and smaller."

I roll my eyes exasperatedly at the customer I was serving before stalking down the length of the bar and fixing a smouldering stare at my swaying roommate.

"I. Have. Customers! And the shots have been the same, its not my fault that you are no longer fully in control of your faculties and spill half the contents before it makes its way to your mouth!"

Cristina rolls her eyes impatiently. "My motor skills are kickass and in no way compromised. I have ridiculously high observational skills which noticed that _your_ shot pouring skills are lacking. What kind of bartender are you? Think you can mess with me? I'm like a ninja."

Her eyes never leaving mine, but developing a calculating look, her arm snakes over the bar counter, knocking over a straw holder, a glass and two bottles of vodka before curling around the Jose Cuervo I was holding and pulling it quickly over the counter before hugging it protectively to her chest. I raise an eyebrow.

"What did you see? Huh? Nothing. Ninja." She smirks whilst stumbling backwards and spilling half the contents onto a bemused Avery.

"Do those baby blues function, or are they just decorative? Move!" she snaps before swaying over to Meredith and Derek and laughing triumphantly.

"That's going on your tab, oh stealthy one!" I retort over my shoulder as I move towards the other end of the bar. Deciding now was as good a time as any to take my break, I throw the keys to Joe and tell him I'm taking 5, before heading to the bathroom. As the door swings shut, I can still hear my roommate's voice berating some poor soul. For such a small person, she sure has a disproportionately loud voice, I think as I splash water on my face and rub small circles on my temples. But I can't really blame the headache entirely on her, or the pounding baseline pumping out through the stereo. 3 weeks into medical school and I'm already falling behind, I think to myself desperately. A month before starting, freshly graduated from college with honours, feeling like a rockstar, I had arrived in Washington freshfaced, eager and beyond enthusiastic. Until I got the phone call. My dad was in jail. My father; the untouchable, the unbreakable, my padre, the one who I could go to about anything, was in jail. Something to do with tax evasion. No one would grace me with a straight answer. Suddenly I was miles from home, my mother distraught and incoherent, spending her days locked inside their bedroom muttering Spanish obscenities and breaking inanimate objects. Aria, my pretentious, trust fund socialite of a sister sobbing into the muscled arms of her boyfriend Jake, whose IQ resembles that of an amoeba, about the loss of her 2012 Audi convertible, and the fact she can no longer throw that party on Daddy's yacht for her birthday. I shouldn't be so harsh on her, I realise that, but being here, on the other side of the country, not really knowing what the hell is going on, has wreaked havoc on my concentration, and my sanity. As soon as I heard I offered to fly back home, to do something, anything, and not feel so damn useless. But both mama and papa were adamant. They were so proud of me, so utterly proud to have a doctor in the family! So they had forcefully insisted I stay, and that it was all a misunderstanding anyway and things would return to normal soon. Our perfect little bubble of serenity had been popped, but they were still clinging to that shiny glittering illusion of normalcy, and apparently, as instructed, so should I. But here I was, failing miserably. Well, I sigh to myself, I never was one who could do as I'm told.

**ARIZONA**

"Zooooooonaaaa! I'm in the zoonne! I drank those last few guys under the table! "

I snort in amusement as I pull her up from between the legs of the pool table. "I don't think that saying is supposed to be taken literally, Teddy."

"Pfft. You're just jealous because I've drunk my body weight in vodka, FLUOROESCENT vodka, mind you, and you're the stupid designated driver because of stupid early work and all the guys want to dance their asses off with this sexy piece right here" she slurs whilst waving her arms up and down, looking for all the world like a giant bird trying to take flight, and poking a bystander in the eye.

I start to giggle, and yank her down onto a chair. "Trust me, come morning you are going to be _super_ jealous of my non-pounding head and ability to move."

"Pfft. You wish. I just needed to celebrate because we're in third year! Third year, baby! I can't wait to start cutting, you know, get my hands on a beating heart, and feel the blooding pumping through, and do some stitching, cos you know I do the best stitches, I've got delicately magical fingers, with the .." my attention to my best friend's rambling was limited to begin with, but it was shot the minute my eyes landed on the beautiful Latina behind the bar. She was lightheartedly arguing with a short, clearly drunk girl, with her toned, caramel arms crossed against her chest, drawing my eyes to her cleavage. I swallowed. Hard. She raised one beautifully sculpted eyebrow at the customer before stalking back in the opposite direction, shaking her curly raven locks and giving me an excellent view of her tight dark jean clad ass. The natural sway in her hips as she walked was unbelievably sexy, and glancing around the bar, I realised I wasn't the only one thinking dirty thoughts about the bartender.

"… I mean, one kick to her solar plexus, and with the weight of those boobs she would topple over? Right?"

"What?! What are you talking about?" I spluttered.

"How I would totally kick Barbie's ass in a fight.." Teddy answered incredulously, as if that were a ridiculous question and what on earth else could she possibly have been talking about?

"Oh." I swallowed. "Of course you would! How on earth did you get on to this topic again?"

"Because we were discussing sorbet! Obviously." She snorted. At my confused look, she started pouting. "You haven't been listening to a word I've said, have you!"

"Of course I have!" I soothed. "I am an _awesome _friend. We were talking about Barbie, and ass kicking, and icecream .." I trail off as, against my will, my eyes flicker back to the Latina as she talks to Joe, the guy who runs the bar, laughing at something he says before flicking him a set of keys and shrugging on a leather jacket. Her laugh is big, loud and unimaginably magical. She's not one of those girls who release a little high pitched giggling; her laugh is all-emcompassing, causing her shoulders to shake, the dark curls tumbling down her back. I want to be the one to make her laugh. I shake my head quickly, trying to get the influx of thoughts out of my head when I don't even know her name.

"No, Zona, you've been too busy boring holes into the back of the hottie bartender's skull!" Teddy whines petulantly, surprisingly observant for someone who has mainlined more alcohol than should be humanly possible.

"Have not!" I splutter childishly as my eyes betray my words and scan the bar for the mystery brunette, but to no avail.

"Pfft. S'ok. I don't bat for that team but if I did, I'd be staring too. She's rocking! This is the third time we have been in this bar this month, and every time you hide behind me, intensely stare at her every move, and then refuse to go within a ten foot pole of her, even to order drinks! My pearl of wisdom is that you should go flash the Robbins dimples and make a move" she states proudly, nodding her head knowledgeably, as happy as if she'd just discovered the cure for Alzheimers.

I start trying to come up with some reason to dispute that, but before I get anywhere I notice the colour drain from Teddy's face before an alarmingly green pallor settles over her features. "Ohhkay, time to hit the bathroom because you are NOT puking all through the backseat of my car!" I wrap my arms around her thin shoulders and propel us towards the bathroom, almost running because I know this colour, I have seen this colour and what is about to follow isn't pretty. She mumbles something unintelligible against my shirt and I hurry faster, flinging the door to the women's bathroom open before hearing an audible crack and muffled Spanish words. Although I don't speak much Spanish, I'm pretty sure its cursing. Cursing seems to be a universal thing, no matter what the language, you can tell. As a pair of brown, smoky eyes meet mine in the mirror, a tanned hand clutching a bleeding lip, I drop my hand from Teddy's waist and it's my turn for a colour change. I can feel the heat flooding into my cheeks, turning my face into a highly unattractive mess resembling a tomato.

It was the bartender I've been borderline eye-stalking for the past hour. The sexy Latina bartender who I've been having, admittedly impure, thoughts about since I first laid eyes on her here a month ago. The first time I have been within 10 feet of her, and I opened a door on her face.

She's bleeding. First meeting, and I cause her actual bodily harm, and I'm staring with my mouth slightly ajar, my face the colour of a grapefruit, and I still haven't said a word. I'm not usually one for swearing, I never swear, but..

Shit.

"I am so sorry! Are you.. can I .. can you.. I mean did you .. I threw open the door, and .. my friend, she was going to be sick .. I hit your face! Oh god, you're bleeding, I made you bleed.. are those tears? Oh my god, I made you cry too, I'm in med school, this shouldn't make me panic, I'm going to be a doctor, and it looks superficial, I think its superficial, not to undermine it and make it seem like it's not bad, I mean of course it's bad, you're bleeding, because I hit you in the face! I –"

"Hey! Hey, its ok" she cuts off my rambling with a half smile. Although it pains me, because a flicker of a grimace makes its way across her beautiful features; fleeting, but I capture it. And I know it's my fault it's there.

I rush over to the basin, silently willing my face to regain its usual colour, before grabbing a handful of paper towels and holding it to her bottom lip.

"Here, let me do this, let me.. help you. Ok? Again, I'm so sorry, I'm not usually like this, I-" a quirk of her beautiful eyebrow cuts off my rambling yet again. I swear, those eyebrows could get me to do anything she wanted me to. Suddenly, I realise how close I'm standing to her. Our hips are inches apart, our chests almost touching, my hand is resting on the side of her face.

"It's really ok" she smiles, her hand reaching up and covering mine holding the paper towel. I feel static, electricity course through my hand at the contact. I drop my hand as if it's been burned. But I'm still standing inches away from her; I cannot bring myself to move away.

"So," she muses, leaning back against the basin in a manner that is disturbingly sexy, "when you're not flinging doorways open to come to the rescue of friends in distress, you're a med student?" she queries, her voice seemingly deeper and huskier than I'd heard when addressing her patrons.

"Y-yeah. That's me. Med. Third year. At University of Washington, In .. med." I trail off unnecessarily.

What is wrong with me? I am _awesome_ with women. I am hot. I have women lining up for me. Once, I was flirting with a girl in a bar, and just by looking at her, her top shirt button popped open. Joey Tribbiani has nothing on me. Admittedly, it was rather a tight shirt, probably not the best quality, and it may have only been a matter of time until the fabric parted ways, but still.. I can flirt. I am _good_. Which is why I'm rather at a loss as to why I have suddenly turned into an inarticulate blubbering mess. After assaulting the girl. Kill me now.

"So, do I get a name? You know, in case I want to press charges, or find some other way for you to make it up to me?" the bartender laughs.

Oh, there are so many ways I can make it up to you, starting with applying pressure to that wound, I think, staring at that full bottom lip. But do I say that? No. Courage has long since deserted me.

"Arizona. Arizona Robbins". I grin, happy I've finally managed to expel one, semi-coherent sentence.

"Well, Arizona", and I blush yet again with how sensual my name feels falling from those lips, "I'm Callie. I-" we both glance up as Teddy stumbles out from a cubicle, splashes water on her face and makes an unintelligible groan, sounding eerily like a zombie from the late night horror fest we watched the night before. I shudder at the memory. Never again. Give me Disney any day.

"Take me home. I know you wanna flirt with the hot bartender you've been boring holes in the back of for the past month, but your flirt is on the fritz" she starts laughing at her alliteration, before continuing "so since you're not gonna get anywhere, take me home, picture her all naked at home in your bed or whatever but just take me home". Teddy grumbles, lurching off the basin and onto my shoulder.

"Teddy!" I hiss, as for the third time in about as many minutes, my face flushes red. "She doesn't mean that! I'm not – I mean you _are_ hot, obviously! But she just means – she's drunk and she – I don't – I mean, I do but I – I'm gonna take her home." I trail off, studiously avoiding those sultry eyes that are currently alight with mirth.

"I'll help you out to the car, not too sure you'll make it alone Arizona" Callie laughs as we each swing an arm around her waist and gradually make our way out into the parking lot. We make the trip in silence, leaving me to my own thoughts which at this point in time, is a very bad idea.

I open my backseat and we deposit Teddy inside, where she faceplants into the leather interior with her knees curled under her and her butt sticking into the air.

Callie shuts the door with a laugh, "designated driver, huh?"

I fiddle with the zip of my jacket distractedly. "Yeah, taking one for the team. Look, I truly am sorry about your lip, every time I look at it I feel terrible. And I could see you were crying, so don't pretend it didn't hurt ok?"

"Really don't stress about it, ok?" Callie sighs gently. "And I wasn't crying about that. I've had a split lip in my time before, a lot worse, I'm badass, I can take it!" she half grins and I beam idiotically back. Leaning against my car with those tight jeans, that leather jacket that fits her like a second skin, the smoky eyeliner .. yep, I can see that. Totally badass. But then I frown.

"Why were you crying then?" I murmur, wiping away the faint tear tracks on her left cheek, wondering for a second if I'm getting too close and personal for someone I barely know, but deciding upon closer inspection that I don't actually care.

She hesitates for a second. "Family dramas. Which in turn, is creating academic dramas." She sighs.

I don't really know what to say, so I just continue to stand there, staring into her eyes, brushing her cheek gently with my thumb. I don't know how long we stood there, like that, but it felt right. Comfortable, almost.

A loud voice from the backseat of my car interrupted the moment. "Enough with the eye fucking ok, I know she's hot but if you don't drive me home ASAP your leather interiors are going to be a lot worse for wear!"

With a rueful sigh, I stroll around to the driver's seat, and with one last glance at the gorgeous Latina bartender, I start to climb in.

"Thanks for your help, and sorry again."

"Until next time, Arizona".

I peel out of the carpark, resisting the urge to hit Teddy with a brick for her inopportune timing.

**ARIZONA - THE NEXT MORNING**

"Good morning!" I chirped as I skipped into the kitchen to pour a coffee before heading off to meet my advisor, who would be assigning me to a first year med student to tutor for the semester. Newborns, I groan internally, all full of the "yay medicine" mentality!

"Die." Is all the reply I get from the lump on the couch I assume to be Teddy.

"Someone feeling a little under the weather from all the fluorescent vodka, are they?" I tease as I put some strawberry poptarts into the toaster.

"My head in on fire. Take your early morning perkiness and leave me to my death, ok?" she groans.

I simply laugh as I bound out the door and up the stairs. My good mood evaporates, however, as soon as the gorgeous Latina bartender enters my mind. More specifically, my horrific first introduction to her. Opening a door on her face. Wounding her. Stuttering like a sunburnt idiot. Teddy telling her about the eye-stalking and naughty thoughts. Oh god.

My steps slow down as I approach my advisor's office. Tutoring seemed like a good idea at the time, a way to make a bit of extra cash as I coped as a lowly impoverished med student, but right now all I want to do is go wallow on a couch with some Ben & Jerry's and a box of donuts.

"Welcome back Arizona! First semester of year three, hope you're prepared to keep up that immaculate record!" Dr Webber intoned. As he droned on, I tuned out and let my thoughts drift back to Callie. There was no point, I mused to myself. She sees you as a bumbling idiot. And you are awesome. You are an awesome student, and you're hot. The internal pep talk wasn't working. I realised there was no point fixating on the Latina if I wanted to maintain my academic excellency. What I really needed to do, was put her completely out of my mind, and focus on my career. Yeah, just forget about those eyes, those undulating hips, the thought of those full lips running across mine, my fingertips ghosting across caramel skin, eliciting a deep primal moan from her beautiful throat.. I swallowed hard. Ok. No more thoughts of Callie, just my career. My life. Ok. I tuned back in to Dr. Webbers monotonous speech.

"And here she is! The first year student you will be mentoring this semester. Arizona Robbins, meet Calliope Torres!" My eyes catch a glimpse of black combat boots, trailing up long curvy denim-clad legs, before reaching a flowing red top encased in a familiar black jacket and a shock of dark unruly curls.

Callie. Calliope. Oh god.

My face flushes red.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing guys! Already had the second chapter written so thought I'd put it up. Like it, hate it, let me know, its my first attempt at writing so I like hearing your thoughts! Next chapter will probably be from Callie's POV i think. Enjoy  
**

**CHAPTER 2**

**ARIZONA**

"It's a disaster." I groan as I flop dramatically onto the sofa. Teddy's prostrate form is still slumped on the opposing couch in the exact same position I left her in two hours ago, before my meeting with Dr Webber.

"Indoor voice, Zona. I will patiently listen to your latest drama so long as you supply me with some aspirin and speak in a quiet monotone. I still have an African conga line dancing through my head," Teddy moans as a shock of dirty blond hair and bloodshot emerald eyes finally make an appearance from beneath the doona.

I fill a glass with some room temperature water before returning and collapsing petulantly on the sofa once more. "I started tutoring for some extra cash, that's all! And who's sitting in Dr Webber's office, but her! How am I supposed to concentrate? And it's not like I can do anything about it, not that I probably would have anyway, because I turn into a rambling incoherent mess when she looks at me, but what exactly am I supposed to do? Huh?"

Teddy has retreated back underneath the doona and her words are muffled. "Sentences, Zona. Use your words."

"Calliope, the bartender from last night, is my student! What, exactly, am I supposed to do here? Help me, yoda." I curl my knees up to my chest.

My best friend slowly re-emerges from the depths of her pillowy cocoon, and sighs. "Look, I get that she is particularly hot, and seemingly a very nice person, if not rather enigmatic, but you opened a door onto her face, and haven't managed a complete sentence around her as of yet, after a month of borderline stalking. How could you possibly know that she is so special? You don't know anything about her." Teddy states seriously.

"I don't know what it is Teds, but there is something there." I can't put my finger on it, but the energy seems to change whenever I'm around her, and it frustrates me.

Teddy is as pragmatic as usual. "Look, even if there is, you're her tutor; I don't know if it is against the college rules, but either way it's pretty ethically ambiguous if you hit on her. Look, you don't even know her, you just need to stop all those what-ifs and crazy scenarios that I know are running through your head, and try to forget about her. See her just as your student. I know it will be difficult, but you won't be a very good tutor if you can't get a coherent sentence out anyway." She smirks at me before her expression turns serious. "Make a list of rules, and stick to them. Try not to get too personal with her, just aim at getting her through the classes, and then after semester is out, maybe you'll be more comfortable around her, enough to actually have a two-sided conversation, and you can see what happens then. But for now, be there for her_ as her tutor_." She settles down looking very satisfied and pulls a pillow over her face.

"I hate it when you're all logical and right," I mutter before leaving the room.

"You love me cos I'm right!" She yells to my retreating back. "And please, shut the blinds, pretend I'm a vampire, I'm petrifying in this sunlight!"

"The nervous system, I just fall apart in. I stare at the diagrams, I read the case studies, I pore over the textbooks, and my mind just clouds over. Ever since everything with my dad, it's a bit like my mind is a sieve, I'm pouring everything in but the faster I pour, the quicker everything starts cascading out, and I'm struggling just to keep the gauge above empty. It never used to be like this, and I hate feeling this.. this useless." She sighs, running a hand frustratedly through a shock of unkempt curls. Her eyes are fluttering across the mess of textbooks littering my bed, never alighting for more than a few seconds before flicking to a new target. She bites her bottom lip distractedly and I feel a fluttering in my stomach. Whenever Calliope is trying hard to focus, she softly captures her bottom lip between her teeth and kneads it back and forth unconsciously, whilst her brow furrows in concentration. It is ridiculously distracting. It's criminal that she can be this sexy whilst remaining completely unaware of it. I sigh and cross my legs tighter underneath my body.

1 hour in to our first session and I'm already breaking all my rules. Initially, I'd agreed to meet Calliope in the medical school library, where there is access to every textbook under the sun, copious anatomical models and an abundance of other students milling around to help keep my impure thoughts at bay and remain the professional tutoring badass that I am. But that plan backfired rather spectacularly. As soon as we were seated, she had removed her trademark leather jacket and her fiery red v-neck singlet clung tightly to her, courtesy of her walk in the ever-present rain that envelopes our city, highlighting her every curve. As she opened a textbook and leaned forward across the table in determined concentration, leaning on her forearms, her cleavage was thrust directly into my view. I swallowed and glanced around the library, and noticed Mark Sloan lounging languidly at a neighbouring table, rather inappropriately savouring the view.

"_Introduce me!" _he mouthed, raising his eyebrows in the direction of the oblivious Latina.

My mouth tightened into a hard line. Over the past three years, Mark had weaselled his way in to my affection, which from our first meeting, I would have sworn was impossible. At a freshman med school mixer, I was standing nervously by the food table, bouncing back and forth on my heels, excited but somewhat nervous given I had arrived in the city later than most others and hadn't had a chance to get acquainted with anyone other than my next door neighbour. A short, disproportionally scary woman who had greeted my outstretched hand and dimpled smile with an imperious raised eyebrow and the sentence "Bailey. Keep the late night shenanigans to a dull minimum, unlike the man with the Sunsilk hair and Prince Charming smile in 3B, and we will get along just fine." At my faltering smile and confused hesitation, she had added "Did I invite you in? I've got unpacking to do. May I suggest you exit my doorway and do the same?" Not exactly the "welcome to the building!" I had naively expected.

So there I stood, warily eyeing the sushi rolls and contemplating my next move, when Sloan had approached.

"Mark Sloan. Future plastic surgeon extraordinaire, and current Greek god, but you can reach that assumption yourself later tonight" he had smirked with a self-assured grin, his eyes fixed firmly on my chest.

"My face is located about a foot above where you're currently looking, and these" I smiled, gesturing towards my chest "are spoken for" I added, glancing in the direction of my date, the girl from the coffee shop I had met a couple of weeks ago and who was currently lined up getting us drinks. "May I suggest you try that ridiculously cheesy line on someone with an IQ less than 100? Although at a medical school meet and greet, I daresay you might run into difficulty," I added, my voice laced with fake saccharine.

"Nice, very nice," he muttered, his eyes running up Joanne's figure appreciatively. "Guess instead of my bed buddy, you're my new wingman! What do you say, Blondie? Robin to my Batman?" And despite myself, I found myself laughing. Over the next few years, I had discovered Mark had a gentler side, and was fiercely protective of his friends. I had come to think of him almost as a cocky Labrador with a heart of gold, although if I were to ever admit this to him there would be hell to pay. He did have a reputation to maintain, after all. So for all his manwhorish tendencies, I had actually come to get along rather spectacularly with Mark Sloan, and to everyone's surprise, he ended up one of my closest friends. However, now he was eying Calliope, my Calliope, with undisguised lust in his eyes and I could see his brain ticking over with a plethora of tried and tested pickup lines. My green-eyed monster was flaring and suddenly, rationality lost out.

"Let's study in my room!" I blurted out, slamming the textbook shut.

"Uh, sure thing. How come?" Callie questioned, arching one eyebrow with a confused little half-smirk.

"I don't like the .. smell, of libraries. Dust, lots of dust. I have allergies. A multitude of allergies, one might say. And all the distractions, it's so loud, and .. distracting. With the people, and.. and everything." I muttered, my voice carrying across the nearly deserted study room. The silence was nearly deafening, and I cursed my idiotic mouth.

With a half shrug, Calliope shouldered her book bag and flung her jacket over her arm.

"Lead the way."

Which is how we had ended up in my room, on my bed; me, with my legs crossed under me, leaning against the headboard, and the gorgeous bartender lying languidly on her stomach across my comforter.

Concentrate, I mutter to myself. The nervous system, I think. How ironic. It troubles me too. Any more blood rushes to my face and I may as well be sporting a neon sign flashing "take me, I'm yours!"

I focus once more on her last words, about feeling useless. I have a feeling she is referring more towards the family dramas she alluded to at the bar last night, as opposed to her lack of concentration academically. I want to ask, but I don't know how appropriate it is when I barely know her.

"How is everything going.. family-wise? Is it ok to ask?" I probe hesitantly.

She stares at me for what seems like an eternity, before suddenly, abruptly, she opens up. It is the most I have ever heard her speak.

"Growing up in Miami, my family always had everything, you know? It's all I've ever known really, I grew accustomed to the lifestyle, and more the security of that lifestyle. I couldn't give a crap about all the money, and the fancy parties and the socialite friends and the prosperity, but it was great not having to worry, you know? I could concentrate on school, on college, on where I wanted to be in life, and know that my family supported me, and that money wasn't going to be an obstacle in getting where I wanted to be. Knowing that my family were safe, and secure.. It was that luxury that I took for granted, and then suddenly I flew across the country, and I get this phone call one night, saying that my padre had been arrested, and was in jail, something to do with his company and tax fraud, and suddenly he's … he's so fragile, so breakable, and I'm scared because I have never seen him that way. He's always been solid, untouchable, and my foundations were just yanked right out from under me, but I'm expected to stay here and just pretend that everything is ok, and I'm just struggling. I'm struggling. Every time I try and concentrate on a map of the lymphatic system, my mind starts conjuring up the maps my dad used to draw me to help study, and I'm picturing his stoic face, and I just know it's faltering right now. I want to fix it, and I can't, and all they want from me is to excel here, and my concentration is so shot that I can't manage it, and I'm working crazy shifts at that bar so that I can cover apartment costs, and I have a semi-serious nightmare that my study-obsessed roommate may actually murder me if I fail, either to get rid of the embarrassment or to get some hands-on experience; just before I left my boyfriend George cheated on me and left before I could even catch a breath, and I just.. I'm falling behind, and I'm not used to it. Falling."

I am silent, and for once, the usually verbose Arizona Robbins is at a loss for words.

"I'm sorry," she wipes harshly, almost angrily at her cheeks and lets out a steadying breath. "That's not exactly what you signed up for when you agreed to tutor me, is it? Don't think they cover breakdowns in the pittance I'm paying for your services!" She lets out a shaky laugh and my hand, which at some point during her outburst has ended up holding hers, I'm not quite aware of when, strokes it softly.

"Hey, don't ever apologise to me, ok? I may not be so great with the words and the comforting, but what I can tell you is that I am an _awesome _tutor, and you are incredibly talented, I saw your college transcripts, and there is not a chance in hell that you are not going to ace your finals this semester! You don't come back with at least 3 A's, and I'm buying you a twelve pack of iced donuts, ok?"

She releases a half laugh, half snort. "Donuts, Arizona? Really?"

I pretend to look affronted. "Donuts are THE best comfort food, thank you very much! If the UN committee cottoned on and had a standing order with Krispy Kreme, I maintain the world would be a much safer place!"

She releases a full bellied laugh and I find myself grinning conspiratorially in response. "Now don't tell anyone though, if this whole becoming a doctor thing doesn't pan out, engineering world peace via the medium of donuts is my backup plan. So no stealing my glory, Calliope!" Her eyes are alight with mirth, and I feel giddy.

"Ok. So. On to the awesome tutoring, because I need you to pass so I get free celebratory drinks at Joe's. I find the textbook for the nervous system dull and boring too, so no wonder you're having difficulty concentrating on it. Even Mr. Pantene Shepherd, god of neurosurgery in my year, can't stand this boring drivel. I find kinetic and visual learning _so_ much better anyway." I glance around my room. "Now I would show you on one the anatomical models, but they're all in the library, which we had to leave, because of .. "

"-your allergies? And all the deafening noise?" she interrupts, smirking.

"Yes, Calliope, because of that." I reply, studiously ignoring her amused smile. "So, we are going to have to improvise. Now show me the path of the median nerve, and tell me its origin and innervation functions!" I smile brightly, holding out my left hand.

"OK. I got this. The median nerve originates from the brachial plexus," she begins, her finger lightly connecting over my shoulderblade, trailing a course down the inner part of my upper arm. Holy hell. I thought she was going to point. I was expecting her to point. I swallow hard. "It enters the forearm here," her fingers glide over the crook of my elbow, and I feel close to passing out. "with the brachial artery. It passes through the carpal tunnel," her fingers are ghosting across my inner wrist, and I am erupting in goosebumps. "and here it divides into the recurrent branch, and common and proper palmar digital branches!" Her fingers are stroking across my palm, everywhere all at once. "How did I do?" She is smiling proudly at me.

"Great," I manage to mumble. She grins happily. "I'm also pretty great at the femoral nerve, but I bet if I showed you that one you just might slap me," she quips, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively at me with a laugh. I snatch my hand away from her grip as if I've been burned.

If I had of been able to keep my eyes trained on her face, I would have seen the flash of disappointment pass across her beautiful brown eyes. But I don't.

Focus, Arizona, I remind myself. You are her tutor. She has been through a lot, with her family, her cheating ex-boyfriend.. my mind sinks further in quicksand. She's straight. A lot of straight girls flirt harmlessly with their friends, I remind myself. That's all it is, and you're just digging yourself in deeper if you think otherwise. Get through this semester as her tutor, and then maybe, just maybe you can try for something more. But for now, I need to distance myself before I add anything else to my list of stupid deeds. Again. It's a rapidly growing list when I'm left alone in the company of the enigmatic bartender slash med student.

"So. Open up to the chapter on the cranial nerves, we'll start with some simple pneumonic devices for remembering their names then go through their origins, course, and innervation. Its chapter 32." I state briskly.

She pauses, seemingly confused. "We've been studying here for nearly two hours, and I'm only paying you for one, so how about we pick up from there tomorrow? We can go out for a coffee or something if you like, my brain needs caffeine after the late night! How is your friend Teddy by the way? Alive to the world yet?" She asks, leaning up on her elbows and gazing at me. I start to panic.

"I have another student to tutor. And then I have .. other plans." I say rapidly.

"Is everything ok, Arizona?" she enquires, staring up at me with concern.

"I'm fine. I just have plans with a friend. We can meet tomorrow at 3pm in the library, Miss Torres." I reply, avoiding her gaze, using her surname in a pathetic attempt to distance myself. Too little, too late.

She sighs and stands up, heading for the doorway, looking pissed. As much as I hate myself for thinking it, she manages to look sexy when she's burning with anger. "Are you sure you're allergies will be ok in the library tomorrow, _Miss Robbins_?" she says my surname scathingly. I say nothing.

"Fine. I'll go have coffee with someone I don't have to pay to be my friend. I apologise for the outburst earlier, it won't happen again." She slams the door and with that, she is out of my room.

I fall back onto my bed and sigh, feeling utterly pathetic and inexplicably sad. Panicked. So much for my rules. I reach for my phone.

"Teddy? Please come back home. And bring donuts."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: here is chapter three, I haven't proofread it because its about 1am here and I am dead tired, so I apologise for any mistakes or if the quality isn't as good; not sure I'm happy with the first half. But hope you enjoy. A very sincere thanks to everyone who has been reading this story and reviewing it, I truly appreciate it!**

* * *

**ARIZONA**

I'm standing in front of a crowded lecture theatre filled with chattering first years, and I feel nauseous. Usually I love public speaking; I'm engaging, I'm informative, I'm _awesome. _But I know that Calliope will be in that audience, and I haven't seen her in 3 days. Since that disastrous tutoring session , she hasn't answered my calls or emails, and she hasn't frequented the coffee shop near her building. Not that I've been stalking it or anything, just that I happen to take a different route on my morning jog, and I've been feeling the need for a caffeine hit. That's not stalking, that's the _universe_. Or my attempt to help the universe, but it has been decidedly uncooperative as of late. Stupid disobliging universe. Things started out so well, I lament to myself. Before we even got onto studying and before stupid Mark with his stupid blindingly white leery smile happened, we were talking as if we'd known eachother for years; I was telling her anything and everything about my life to see that crooked sexy grin, and we just.. _connected, _so fast it was scary. Even Teddy took a few weeks to get used to my manically animated disposition; for the first few weeks she may have thought I was an excessively cheerful serial killer. Now I've been replaying our tutoring session over and over in my head, for three straight days and 3 semi shameful boxes of donuts. I'm pacing the hallway at a rapid pace.

"Are you alright? If you're stressed, try some water, and some deep breathing," Owen advises. I fix him with a glare and he wisely leaves my vicinity.

"Arizona, why are you stressed? They're _first years_, they're babies, they won't even know if you're full of crap," Derek scoffs as he leans languidly against a wall, looking supremely bored.

"Oh, shove it, Mr Pantene," I mutter, feeling short of breath and disconcertingly dizzy.

All too soon, and I am up on the brightly lit podium. I'm talking about the presentation and management of glioblastomas in pediatric patients; I should be on _fire_, I'm passionate about the topic, I know my stuff, I could recite it in my sleep, and it's worth 15% of my grade for this subject. But when it is all over, I cannot recall a single solitary word that I said. Because within seconds, my eyes were fixed on hers, and my thoughts were irrevocably lost to the Latina in the third row. She left towards the end of my lecture, exiting the back entrance without a second glance. My attention was stolen as some cocky first year took the trouble to point out multiple errors in my presentation, smirking arrogantly.

As I left the room in a hurry, desperate to get away and drown myself in some Krispy Kremes and wallow in self misery, Mark unfolded himself from a chair and grasped my arm, spinning me around to face him.

"What's going on, Robbins? You usually nail my ass at these things, but today I reckon even I've got a shot of topping you. Breast augmentation, my type of oral! If I can convince one flat chested girl in the audience that there is a path into the world of D cups, then my work is done and I can sleep at night," he grins, before his expression turns serious.

"Look, whatever's wrong, you've been in a funk for three solid days. I've left you alone, aside from leaving donuts on your doorstep, because I figured you would talk when you wanted to –"

"Wait, that was you leaving baked goods for me?" I ask, feeling a wave of appreciation wash over me.

"Of course, do you think the supplies were magically refilling themselves, or that grumpy neighbour of yours Bailey finally flipped to the bright side and wanted to be BFFs?" he snorts. "Look, whatever's got those dimples disappearing, you have to do something about it, not just wallow in misery and carbs. You're my Robin, Robbins; nobody will believe a misery-filled wingman, ok? Do what you have to do, just get those dimples back Blondie." He smiles and strides down the hall, wrapping his arm around two first years who had been eying him appreciatively throughout the lecture. It's ridiculous how often I find myself saying this these days, but.. Sloan has a point.

* * *

**CALLIE**

"Can I get a gin and cranberry?"

I freeze as that all-too-familiar voice washes over me from the end of the bar. I turn around slowly, and there I find her.

"So, I've had quite a day. I was so distracted that in my case study presentation I got my ass handed to me by Alex Karev, a first year med student. Which is humbling, for a third year, especially a know-it-all, type-a—"

"We don't have to do this," I interject. "We don't have to be friends. It's a big university with lots of buildings, lots of other tutors, lots of places to hide. And I'm perfectly okay with doing that for the next few years." I say, my voice unnaturally flat. It's a complete lie. I already miss her company. It's utterly ridiculous, given I've known her all of a week. But as crazy as it sounds, I feel as though I already _know_ her. I know that she has a childish aversion to cauliflower but no concrete reason for it. I know that the proudest memory she has is when she was nine and beat her older brother in laser tag, to everyone's immense astonishment. I know she secretly wants a pair of those ridiculous death-trap wheeled sneakers but won't admit to it. I know her eyes can range from an oceanic aqua when she's happy, to a steely navy blue when she's secretly envisioning bodily harm with a brick. All this I know, and she's only been in my life a week. I'm still not quite sure how she has managed to make me feel so utterly comfortable in her presence after such a short time, and that petrifies me. Growing up around the rich and aristocratic, I had evolved into a rather private person by nature. An abundance of fake oompa-loompa tans, perfectly proportioned teeth so white they could render flashlights useless, and self-absorbed egocentricity shrouded in a transparent veneer of meaningless pleasantries; that was my adolescence. So I had closed myself off from the world; kept myself and my trust at a respectable distance. It took six months, a bottle of gin, and a rather unfortunate misunderstanding involving a locked door and a very angry European billionaire for Addison Montgomery to even learn my last name, and she's my best friend.

But Hurricane Arizona had torn through my blockade and left it shattered within minutes. Every time her face flushes red, or those dimples appear, or she furrows her brow in concentration and lets out a little huff of exasperation, another one of those self-imposed bricks comes shattering down. I've told her things, personal things that seem to just tumble out of my mouth without warning around her. Since our first and only tutoring session three days ago, an unhealthy proportion of my thoughts have revolved around the blonde haired enigma, and it scares the hell out of me. Because there is a reason I don't let people in, and after opening up she had knocked me for six with the Jeckyl and Hyde routine she pulled. I feel my resolve harden. I'd seen a connection between us, but it was just an illusion, and I'd be damned if I was going to obsess over it. I have other friends. I have a career. I don't need her. A lie, but if I say it enough maybe I'll start to convince myself. She looks forlorn, like a chastised puppy, and I feel guilty. I look at my hands, the bar; anywhere but those bottomless blue orbs that she unwittingly uses as a deadly weapon: look too long and I'll forgive her anything.

She is silent, and I once again I feel uncertain; at a loss. So far removed from the confident , self-assured woman who once told a professor to shove it, threatened to remove a creep's family jewels with a melon baller if he didn't leave an intoxicated Addison alone, and walked out of a job interview I was vastly underqualified for with an access card and a cocky grin, all in the space of a day. That Callie was poised and self-assured, a rockstar; today, hand me a compass and directions and I still couldn't tell you which way is up. I feel flustered and discombobulated all at once.

I turn away and start walking away when I feel her arm grasp my wrist none too gently and prevent my escape.

"You're not hearing me, Calliope. Sometimes, I panic in the moment, and I call it wrong. I misjudge a situation. I'm sorry I flipped my lid yesterday, truly – I'm usually quite a composed person, but I just panicked, because I feel as if I _know_ you already, as ridiculous as that sounds - like we were destined to be .. friends .. because I have never felt such an instant connection to anyone before in my, albeit rather sheltered, existence thus far. I was just feeling so much all at once, and I panicked because I was thinking, I have this amazing bond with this incredible woman already, and what if she just sees me as her awesomely smart but admittedly geeky tutor who blushes more often than humanly possible, and I don't get to hang out with you again? So I panicked about losing you, but in doing so I lost you, because I'm that level of idiotic when I start one train of thought and derail myself. This is far too much information for someone I only officially met a week ago, but I want to tutor you so you will still be here next year and we can lay in the park and make up irrational sordid life backgrounds about the strangers walking by, which is one of my favourite pastimes by the way. So the gist of that long-winded story, is that .. I just miss you Calliope. And I'm sorry for being split personality crazy." Her cheeks flush crimson.

I'm trying my hardest to maintain a neutral expression as a grin threatens to take over. God, I've missed her rambling. And her blushing. It's remarkably cute how often her cheeks flush red. So endearing.

"So, if you're up for it, I'd like to resume the awesome tutoring sessions, and then take you to dinner to apologise for the aforementioned freakout, and show you that I am not actually a crazy person. Well, only in the good ways." She looks up at me, and I feel slightly lightheaded. During her speech, her hand had drifted down from encircling my wrist to slide into my own. She is rubbing small circles over my thumb, and I'm struck by how perfectly her hand fits into mine.

I smirk. Let her sweat for a bit, I think to myself.

"Maybe," I reply with a grin and a quirked eyebrow.

"Maybe?" Arizona replies, looking perplexed.

"Yeah. My schedule's kinda insane right now, so I'll get back to you." I turn around and saunter to the opposite end of the bar, rolling my eyes as the redneck in the wifebeater and flannel singlet starts berating me in drawling, grammatically incorrect sentences. Apparently he's been trying to get my attention and order a drink for the past 15 minutes. Whoops. I lean forward aggressively and raise an eyebrow. He shuts up. I hear the door swing shut and immediately grab my phone out of my back pocket and start typing. The man, and I use that term very loosely, opens his mouth to say something to me before thinking twice and sitting back down. I suppress a grin.

_Calliope [9:42pm]: So, how's tomorrow?_

Barely a minute later, I get a response.

_Arizona [9:44pm]: You're cruel. But you listened to me rant for 10 minutes non stop while Johnny Bogan in the flannel death glared me, so I forgive you. Tomorrow, 3pm, I'll pick you up from yours. I'm chivalrous like that. Dress sexy :P_

_Arizona [9:45pm] I was joking, just meant that I'm taking you to a fancy restaurant for dinner! Not meaning that I planning to take advantage of you or anything creepy like that. It sounded so much better in my head. _

_Arizona [9:46pm] And you always look amazing. But I am taking you to dinner afterwards, so I just meant maybe my usual studying gear of trackpants and a sweatshirt may not be entirely appropriate._

_Arizona [9:47pm] Shutting up now. See you tomorrow, 3pm. I blame you for the rambling, you know. You never gave me that gin and cranberry, oh bartender. Goodnight Calliope._

This time, I can't stop the grin from emerging.

* * *

I stroll in to the apartment and throw my bag in the general direction of the kitchen, wincing when it slides across the bench and falls on the floor with a ringing thud. I freeze, eyes scrunched tightly shut. Wait for it, I tell myself, just wait for it..

"Its midnight. I'm not nocturnal. You owe me coffee." Cristina grunts, shuffling out of her room and opening the fridge.

"You want coffee now? Go back to sleep, we have a lecture at 8am!" I say cheerfully, stripping off my jacket and tossing it on the couch.

"Can't. Awake now. _Someone_ insists on dragging me down with them," she grunts, aiming a tired kick at my legs and missing entirely.

"Oh, and you and Mr. Taciturn Hunt going at it like rabbits until three am, in your bedroom _and the lounge room_ might I add, is different how?" I question, glancing over at the couch. I had forgotten about that. I certainly hope she had that dry cleaned, or fumigated. Or bought me a new damn couch.

"Different," she snorts, pulling out a tub of yoghurt and folding herself onto the floor. "I'm having fun stress release. You're playing Coyote Ugly, without the benefit of free decently-proportioned tequila shots for your suffering roommate. Speaking of, you so need to get laid," she states matter-of-factly.

"Excuse me?" I splutter.

"You. Need. To. Get. Some. Its been months since George bumped uglies with that whore from the bookstore, and while I'm sure you've still got your hand to keep you going, it sure as hell isn't as effective as the real thing," she smirks, slowly licking her spoon.

"Cristina! That is ridiculous! And none of your business!" I hiss, doing an Arizona and turning crimson. "Since when do you care about the state of my love life anyway?" I start pulling ingredients out of the fridge for a late dinner.

She pauses. "I don't. But laid Callie is happy, chicken piccata cooking Callie. I'm sick of cereal, and I miss chicken piccata," she states. I freeze, chicken breast cutlets, capers and white wine in hand.

"You've met someone," she says slowly, eyeing the ingredients with, what is from my surly roommate , a bewildering level of interest.

"I have not, that's ridiculous! I ran into my tutor at the bar, I'm happy that I'm back on track for passing my exams. And I'm hungry, that's all. No need for the Spanish Inquisition," I mutter, studiously avoiding eye contact and slicing the chicken.

She snatches my phone off the counter with newfound energy and reads the last message that is still displayed on screen, snorting. "Pfft. I know you, _Calliope,_ and you may be somewhat intelligent, but don't pretend exams make you happy in the pants the way _tutorboy_ here does. Physiology doesn't flick your switch enough to dance around making Italian, _oh bartender,"_ she smirks.

"My tutor is Arizona, and we're just friends; the universe put us together because we connect on so many levels and she's .. she's helping me get through the crappiness that has encompassed my life this past year, ok?" I sigh, feeling an uncomfortable fluttering in my chest.

"Oh, blondie third year who gave that crappy peds presentation this morning? She's hot. A little too animated and dimply to not make me want to dry retch, but still.. hot. Pfft, the universe, you have it so bad," Cristina monotones, stretching up off the floor and heading back to her room.

I brown the chicken in silence, not really knowing what to say. There's no point arguing with her anyway, it's like arguing with a brick wall, but without the satisfaction that it won't follow you making sure you know it's right when you're done.

"Buy more cereal tomorrow, who knows how long this happy pants cooking will last if McPerky doesn't make a move soon," she states as she walks away.

"Cristina?" I yell to her retreating back.

"What?"

"Call me Calliope again, and I will suture those angry lips shut, and you'll have to insult me in sign language."

She gives me some sign language of her own with a raised middle finger as the door slams shut. I roll my eyes, and while my dinner is simmering away, I open my phone and reread her last message.

_Arizona [9:47pm] Shutting up now. See you tomorrow, 3pm. I blame you for the rambling, you know. You never gave me that gin and cranberry, oh bartender. Goodnight Calliope._


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry it has taken me a week to update this! Been a crazy, crazy week at work, and I've been super busy with sport too, so I am exhausted! But hope you enjoy this chapter. Thank you muchly to everyone that has been reading and/or reviewing this story, I truly appreciate it and makes me want to write faster when I know you guys are reading it and (hopefully) enjoying it!**

* * *

**ARIZONA**

Teddy is sprawled lethargically across my bed, rolling her eyes as I pull the last remaining dress out of my wardrobe and make my fifteenth wardrobe change in as many minutes.

"Tell me again, why exactly am I sitting here watching the fashion show when I should be working on my genetics research assignment of which I have written absolutely nothing? Or even sitting at a bar getting uproariously drunk and dancing unceremoniously on a bar table?" Teddy questioned, a pout adorning her lips and her feet kicking petulantly on the bed.

"Because, I have tried on everything in my wardrobe once already, and you know I make terrible decisions when it comes to clothing. I once bought parachute pants and legitimately intended to wear them in public, remember?" I remind her. She grimaces. She remembers them.

"Ok, I realise that my advice is crucial if you don't want to end up looking like an extra from Zoolander, but why is today so important?" she questions curiously.

"I've got a tutoring session with Calliope in an hour, and afterwards I'm taking her to dinner to apologise for freaking out and releasing my inner crazy person, and I don't want her to think I have the inability to look semi presentable, in addition to my inability to form complete sentences," I lament, tossing another dress on the heap adorning my floor.

"So, you've finally gotten an actual date with Callie? Thank god, Mark was going to buy stocks in the local bakery if you didn't," Teddy laughs, rolling over and picking up a blue silk dress from my growing pile and tossing it to me.

"It's not a date. I do want to make a move, but with her I'm just not sure if we're meant to be good friends, or if she feels something more. I don't want to screw it up, I've done that enough already with the splitting her lip and freaking out routine," I mutter.

"Look, I saw the way she was looking at you that night in the bar. You may be hot and adorable, but I sure as hell don't look at you the same was Callie was. You don't want to leave it to long before making a move, or you'll end up mayor of the friend zone," Teddy intones wisely.

I pick up the blue dress she suggested and hang it on the door handle for dinner tonight, shimmying into a pair of dark skinny jeans and a v-neck shirt for the studying, opting to come back and change after the library session. "I don't want to be mayor of the friend zone Teds, but I honestly don't know what is going through that gorgeous head of hers. I don't know if she feels the same way, and I don't want to lose her entirely. My metabolism certainly won't cope! I just.. I'm going to try, I truly am going to try, but I'm going to try carefully. I'd rather end up mayor than exiled from the city," I say.

Teddy sighs good naturedly. "Whatever you say, Zona. You get impatient waiting through the previews when you drag me to the latest Disney movie, patience is not one of your strongest suits. So may the force be with you tonight! Enjoy your non-date date!"

* * *

**CALLIE**

"Ok, that shady looking guy in the wifebeater trying to act nonchalant in the architecture section. He's meeting someone here, someone he is keeping a secret .. ooh! The librarian in the glasses in the IT help desk section who keeps sneaking covetous glances in his direction. They're secretly in love, but they're afraid their love won't be understood in society, what with the age gap, and his criminal past. It's a modern day Romeo and Juliet, with undertones of Cougartown. He slips her love letters in the architecture journals, although he could choose a more realistic cover for this love affair. Aah, young misunderstood love, forced to connect through the Dewey Decimal System, its almost tragic," Arizona sighs.

I let out a snort. "This is what you do in your spare time? Make up crazy inventive stories about everyone you see? Besides, that guy _is_ studying architecture. And pretty sure that librarian is staring at the couple one row behind him who are two seconds away from joining the nerdy equivalent of the mile high club," I say with an amused grin.

"Don't ruin my stories, ok? Besides, my version is so much more exciting," Arizona pouts. "I promise it's fun! Try it, Calliope!"

Her enthusiasm is infectious, and I find myself wanting to bring out those dimples however I can. I scan the library, my eyes alighting on the table behind us.

I lean in towards Arizona, whispering conspiratorially. "Ok. Girl at 6 o'clock, in the baggy jumper with the bloodshot eyes. She's struggling to stay awake, because she can't cope with the rent and the college fees, so she's taken to working a phone sex line at night. The preppy looking guy sitting two spots down from her, who keeps looking at her quizzically, he's wondering why her voice sounds familiar, but he just can't place it."

Arizona lets out a peal of laughter, earning a disapproving stare from the nearest librarian. "Now you're getting the hang of it! Fun, right? Ok, ok my turn.."

We continue with this until we've both erupted into silent fits of laughter.

"OK, you're not paying me to teach you the fine art of people watching! We can continue this tomorrow in the park. Much greater audience for us to choose from anyway. But now, it's physiology time!" Arizona exclaims, opening a textbook with an exaggerated flourish.

I grin. If learning was this much fun, I would have been a much better student.

* * *

**ARIZONA - later that night**

"So why the decision to move halfway across the country for medical school? With your grades you could have gotten in wherever you like. I know that the uni here is rather prestigious, but it still seems rather .. drastic. To pick up everything, leave all you've ever known, to be here." I pause, trying to organise my thoughts into some semi-logical train of consciousness. Attempting, once again rather unsuccessfully, to be eloquent. Or at the very least semi-coherent; I am her tutor after all, the inability to string together a single cohesive sentence is probably not give inspiring much confidence in my tutelage skills. But I'm inclined to blame that tight fiery red dress, that is hugging her in all the right places and showing the perfect amount of her toned legs and cleavage. It's highly distracting. When I picked her up for dinner, I could barely remember my own name.

"Well, not drastic, but .. brave. I would find it unsettling, to realign my whole world," I amend.

"Yeah, admittedly it was challenging. Leaving the hot humid summers, getting lost in the craziness of downtown nightlife with Addison, the fact I couldn't walk more than a block without hearing a burst of Spanish, tanning under a crystal clear blue sky, washing sand out of every crevice imaginable for hours after a session surfing the waves. God, I miss the beach," she laments with a rueful grin.

"You surf?" I interrupt, my voice coming out at a about an octave higher than I would have preferred. _Way to play it cool, Arizona, _I internally berate myself. But my overactive imagination has already conjured up an image of Calliope in a figure hugging scarlet red bikini, toned caramel skin glistening in the sunlight, rivulets of water running sensuously across her toned abdomen as her legs tense and she propels across the wave. I cross my legs and try to banish the pleasant but exceptionally distracting vision from my mind. I really need to do something about curbing my ridiculously overactive imagination. Or getting a more convincing poker face.

"Oh, I surf," she says confidently, her face breaking out into a grin. Sometimes I wonder if she has any idea how ludicrously sexy she is when she smiles. Most of the time, I doubt it. And somehow, her obliviousness just makes it even sexier. I try to pull my thoughts back into PG-rated territory.

"So if you loved your life in Miami so much, why leave?" I question curiously.

Her grin falters and fades completely, and her previously mirth filled eyes turn a stormy hazel. She swirls the merlot slowly, looking pensively towards it as if hoping to find the answer in the depths of her wine glass. "Miami as a city, as a place to live, I loved. The atmosphere, the weather, the crazy artists lining the pavements, everything. But my personal life just became too damaged, too splintered; so much so that it was starting to take a toll on my academic life. My now ex-boyfriend, George.. things were strained between us for awhile anyway, and then one night it just blew up spectacularly in my face. My relationship with my mother had been steadily deteriorating for the past year, ever since .. well, let's just say before George I dated someone she severely disapproved of, and even after that relationship ended, there's been this unbridgeable gap between us, and each day we drifted further and further apart as our conversations got shorter and more hostile. My sister Aria and I have always been worlds apart, so my life reached a point where I felt I couldn't be honest or really talk to anyone there anymore, you know? I just felt very alone, and wanted a fresh start. Away from the drama, away from the scrutiny, a chance to completely reinvent myself and focus on my studies, without having to stress about my family disintegrating around my feet as I stand there uselessly amidst the rubble, you know? It seemed like a great idea at the time, but as soon as I stepped off that flight, in my high heeled boots and singlet, woefully underprepared for the torrential downpour I walked into, no clue where I was going, in any sense of the term .. I felt even more alone than I did back home. Suddenly I was questioning myself; what twisted sense of logic thought this would be a solution?"

Her expression is sombre but so utterly unguarded, and I am entrenched. I almost can't comprehend how things could have disintegrated so much that she thought the best solution was to pack up and leave it all behind her. I reach out slowly, tentatively, and place my hand over hers, applying the lightest of pressure and stroking the back of her hand with deliberately tender movements, stroking a slow circle over her trembling skin. My fingertips are alive with electricity. I'm shaky and unconfident, worried that I may be overstepping the tutor boundary, the friend boundary, whatever we are; I don't want to make any transgressions. Yet again, considering how often I've managed to screw it up already. But seeing her look so desolate is causing a painful tightening in my chest, and I want her to know that she has me, in whatever capacity she wants me. That she isn't alone. Her hand flips within my grasp so we are palm to palm, her grip tightening almost imperceptibly. The ghost of a smile returns to grace her features.

"I was feeling disoriented and so unconfident, and then everything with my father disintegrated, my academic work was collapsing and I felt as though I had tried to take a different path but in the process I'd completely lost control of my own life. But there I was, falling apart in a dirty bar bathroom, and you steamrolled into my life and suddenly I didn't feel quite as lost anymore. I know that I haven't known you that long Arizona, but you came to me when I was adrift and we connected so instantly that suddenly you were helping me get the reigns back, to my life. Not just with the academic stuff, which you've been amazingly helpful with by the way, but just in everything. So truly, thank you, for helping me find myself again." She sends a slow, crooked smile in my direction as her hand lightly traces mine.

I feel lost for words. Never before has someone opened themselves up to me so completely, so transparently. I feel privileged, amazed, enlightened; a million different adjectives all at once. We sit in silence, our hands lightly linked, but the silence is comfortable. Our waiter finally returns and with it comes a mouthwatering aroma and suddenly I realise how hungry I am. With a reluctant sigh I pull my hand out of Calliope's grasp and begin upon my chicken. I sense that she's reluctant to talk any further about her family, it's clearly a painful subject and I don't want her to dwell on all the drama that she has utterly no control over. I don't want to be the cause of that hurt expression on her face, ever. But I can't help what comes out of my mouth next; I'm far too curious and have absolutely no restraint. Ask my local Krispy Kreme outlet on a bad day.

"So, what happened with your ex? George?" I probe gently.

"We were friends first and foremost. He was a quiet little guy, kinda introverted, gentle nature, used to get called Bambi. But he was so sweet and caring that when we first started dating, things were great. I felt special, and loved. But eventually, instead of talking, we were arguing. About anything really, no matter how trivial. We stopped listening, and instead just picked holes in each other. But despite all the petty arguments, I still thought that we would make it through, and that we were different to all the other couples that drift away from each other; I was so confident we'd make it back. After my previous relationship, to be with someone who respected me and who was my friend; I had convinced myself it was real, and honest. But eventually I found out he was cheating on me with some girl he met at a bookstore, and in one fell swoop I lost my friend, my confidante. Even though I know now in retrospect that we only ever should have remained friends, and that we didn't fit together and have that spark like we should have, it still hurts that he reached a point where he would rather deceive me and hurt me, rather than talk to me. That part still hurts," she concludes.

"No one that treats you with that level of disrespect deserves to have you in their life, Calliope. You are an amazing person in every conceivable way, and I may be all sunshine and rainbows most of the time, but if I ever have the misfortune of meeting him then he better hope I don't have easy access to a melon baller," I mutter, only half joking.

"Well the bookstore woman was rather hot, I guess I just had too much competition," Callie says with a smile, and although I think it's meant in jest, there's a thin veil of truth laced through the statement.

The next words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. "What possible competition? Have you looked in a mirror recently?!" I shut my mouth before I can fit any more of my mouth in it.

She lets out a little laugh and I return to my food, silently willing my verbal filter to kick in for once.

"So since you now know more about me than possibly anyone else on this planet, I think it's high time I get under your skin," Callie grins cheekily, licking a stray dot of pasta sauce from the corner of her lower lip in a decidedly sexy manner. _Oh Calliope, you're so far under my skin already nothing would get you out,_ I think to myself. But thankfully I manage to keep that thought silent.

"50 questions, about anything and everything, and you have to answer honestly, no holds barred. Game?" she challenges with a quirked eyebrow.

"Bring it, Torres!"

* * *

**CALLIE **

We are strolling leisurely through the streets back towards my house, as Arizona is insisting on walking me home chivalrously, and I can't believe how happy and at peace I feel right now. This whole night has just been _fun_, and I honestly can't remember the last time I've been in such high spirits. As she bumps my side playfully and I tease her about one of her answers to my 50-questions style quiz, I feel my a fluttering in my chest. Even with my best friend Addison, I've never connected so instantly, so viscerally, with a person before. I'm not sure specifically where this is heading, and that worries me slightly. I like being in control, which is why these past few months have been so utterly hellish for me. I don't deal well without being up to speed and knowing where things are, where they are going. I need to know where I'm going, and here with Arizona I'm so unsure as to what exactly we are. But whatever this is, I'm more content than I have been in far too long. So for once in my life, I'm going to relax and enjoy the murky waters and see where the current takes me.

We reach the door to my apartment building and slowly drift to a stop. As we say our final goodbyes for the night, she leans in and wraps her arms around me in a close hug. I encircle my arms around her waist, somehow reluctant to let go and have this day end. As we pull away, she places a lingering featherlight kiss on the side of my cheek. It burns long after Arizona pulls away. With a final smile, I slip up the stairs, but I'm struck by a sudden thought and run back out onto to street to see her retreating silhouette heading back towards the city.

"Arizona?"

She turns around and skips cheerfully back in my direction.

"It hardly seems fair for you to walk me all the way to my door so considerately and then make you walk all the way back home, in the dark. And you are a young attractive blonde woman, you certainly shouldn't be walking the streets and the parks so late at night by yourself. Who knows if the hooligans and crazy druggies will try to take advantage of you, and I certainly don't want that on my conscience. So I was thinking, do you want to crash with me tonight? I can take you back to yours in the morning after breakfast if you like," I enquire, and for some reason, I feel nervous.

Her mouth opens into a silent o, before she shuts it with a snap and gives me a grin.

"Lead the way, Calliope."

* * *

**Next chapter there will be more Cristina, because i rather enjoy writing her! **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: sorry it is taking me so long to update this! Found out this week that I have an interview for entry into med, which I am crazy excited about so been very busy this past week! Anyway, it is about 3am but i really appreciate all of you who are reading and reviewing so I'm dead tired but I wanted to give you something! Completely unproofread whatsoever, so apologies. But hope you enjoy**

* * *

**ARIZONA**

The lights in her hallway are flickering incandescently as we ascend the narrow staircase, casting an erratic shadowy glow against the thin papery walls. As the lights flicker one final time before spluttering out with a final defeated hiss, an ominous bang echoes through the hallway. I tense involuntarily as my heartrate picks up, scenarios involving home invasions and crazy masked madmen wearing suits made of human skin sewn together in a dank basement anointed in blood and lotion and sacrificial wooden masks. An overactive imagination is perfect when it comes to babysitting or inventing awesome life stories whilst people watching in the park, but not so helpful when suddenly entrenched in darkness. There is a reason I stick to Disney when home alone on a Friday night. My shoulders tense and the fine hairs along my arms raise as I inadvertently shuffle closer to the figure in front of me.

Calliope reaches back and grasps my hand as her pearly smile flashes through the darkness in an apologetic grin. "Sorry, the building isn't exactly the Hilton. Bartending wages don't cover 5 star living along with medical school bills. But i promise it's safe; we haven't had a break in in weeks, and the last guy was so hopped up he could barely visualise a door, let alone manage the intricacies of breaking one open," she announces with a laugh. She's so funny when she's joking. I sincerely hope she's joking. I make a mental note to ask for a baseball bat or hammer as soon as we enter the door. You know, for solidarity. She tugs on my hand gently, leading me up the winding staircase carefully, and as the heat from her palm radiates into mine and our fingers interlink easily, almost naturally, my heartrate accelerates for an entirely different reason.

Calliope pads softly across the the timber floors towards her room, a dramatic finger pressed to her flushed lips and gesturing comically at a closed door emblazoned with a sign "artificial intelligence is no match for natural stupidity", a picture of a cow laughing at a horse stuck in a fence, and a complete anatomical diagram of the musculoskeletal system with exhaustive illegible annotations scrawled in an angry red. When we finally reach her room and she shuts the door with an exaggerated sigh, I raise a quizzical eyebrow in her direction.

"Yang. Cristina Yang, to be precise. My ridiculously overzealous roommate with the emotional sensitivity of a fork. A particularly vindictive fork."

My eyebrow disappears further beneath my hairline. "Why, exactly, have you chosen to live with someone who makes the Grinch look like a furry ball of joy?" I question curiously.

"Cristina is .. she is ridiculously loyal. She's like a pitbull. Crazy manic eyes and half the time you're very overcome with the urge to muzzle her but once she's decided that you've reached her inner circle of friends, she'll go to hell and back protecting you, not that she'll ever admit to it. But i thought it would be wiser to introduce you to her in the morning, once she's had the full benefit of coffee," Calliope grins. She tumbles onto the bed facefirst with a dramatic sigh. "I am utterly exhausted. You good to crash soon?"

I let out a tired smile and run a hand distractedly through my curls. "I'm with you there, Calliope." 50 pre-non-date-date outfit changes, a tutoring session, the best dinner of my life, and the presence of a large horde of gigantic butterflies taking occupancy in my stomach for the better part of the day, and I am fresh out of energy. She slowly resurfaces with a groan and rummages through her dresser before tossing me a pair of shorts and a singlet to change into. I look around nervously, wondering whether i should risk the wrath of Cristina by attempting to change in the bathroom. As my gaze flutters back to Calliope's form, I notice with a start that she isn't wracked with concern or insecurities. She's unzipping her dress torturously slowly, rolling her hands down the sides of her torso as her dress pools in a rough heap around her feet. She delves into her dresser once more and pulls out a pair of Wall-E boxers and a wifebeater singlet, pulling the boxers up her smooth tanned legs. All too soon, the view of her naked back is obscured as she pulls the singlet over her head and shakes her raven curls free of the fabric before reclining languidly back on her double bed once more, her hands interlinked behind her head and her gaze once again resting upon my mute form. With a start, i realise that I have been unabashedly staring at her figure and haven't even attempted to start getting changed myself. I quickly unzip my dress and let it slide to the floor, quickly pulling the t-shirt over my head. It's quite long on me, so i decide to forgo the pants and climb straight into the bed next to her as its quite a humid night. For a second, it seems as though her gaze lingers on my stomach and she swallows as the shirt obscures her view. Only for a second. I'm wondering if through my Calliope lust-filled haze I'm just projecting and seeing what I want to see. What I wish I were seeing.

In an attempt to distract myself and her from my blatant staring and drooling, I start to tease her. "Wall-E boxers? Really, Calliope? You strike me more as the single coloured silk lacy type."

"Hey!" she responds with a lighthearted punch to my shoulder. "Don't mock Wall-E, ok? He tries to save the love of his life, even though he's a machine, even though he was wrong and she wasn't in danger and it just made things worse, he had to do everything in his power to do save her, and to hell with anything else. It's cute, and romantic. So don't mock the boxers. And how long exactly have you been picturing me in my pajamas?" she smirks with a suggestive wink.

I know she's just harmlessly flirting, but that hits far too close to home and my face flushes crimson. I turn away and curl on my side, trying hard to regulate my breathing back to a semi-human pace. After a few minutes, I feel her body slide closer to mine under the blanket, the heat from her body radiating into me from the few inches of space between us, setting me on fire with pulsating electricity.  
She pauses, and moves infinitesimally closer, her breath brushing softly against my ear.

"I know that we haven't known each other that long, but we just _fit _together, Arizona. We just fit. I feel like I'm a puzzle that I've been trying to solve for years, but the more I search, the more I get confused. I've been chasing myself round in circles, getting more and more lost with each turn. But then you ran into me at the speed of light, and suddenly I wasn't so consumed with fitting it together anymore. Instead I was laughing, and _feeling_, and when I looked around suddenly I was back on the path again. You guided me back to it without even knowing it; without even trying. We're like .. we're like milk and cookies. Separately, they're great; they're enriching, they're fantastic. But put them together, and they get exponentially better. Just by being together, you appreciate them so much more. They bring out the best taste in eachother; they complement eachother. That's how I feel when I'm with you, Arizona. Separately, we're rockstars, no doubt about it. But put us together .. You're milk and I'm cookies. We just get better together," she whispers, so softly I almost wonder if it's happening, or if I've escaped into my overactive imagination. What she is said is so beautiful, so heart wrenchingly beautiful, that I am once again at a loss for words.

After a few minutes of stunned silence, I finally reply. "I want to be cookies," I mutter softly.

She stiffens against my back, making me realise that she thought I was asleep. But soon she shuffles infinitesimally closer and whispers back, "Ok, I can live with that. Demanding," she acquiesces. I smile.

"Goodnight, my M." I breathe shyly.

"Goodnight, C."

_

**CALLIE**

I wake up to feel a set of warm arms encircling my torso, lightly resting across my stomach; a leg stretched possessively across mine, coccooning me in my bedmate's embrace. With a smile I remember the events of the past night and smell the coconut/lime scent of Arizona's hair invading my nostrils. My smile freezes as it alights upon the expressionless face of my roommate, standing in my open doorway with a cup of coffee in one hand and the other judgementally placed on her hip.

"Morning," she states calmly, taking a sip of her potent coffee, her eyes never leaving mine.  
""Cristina! Why are you in my room?" I ask, trying to nonchalantly slip my legs from their position encased in Arizona's.

"Made coffee. Thought I'd be generous and see if you wanted any," she states.

"You have never done anything generous without an ulterior motive in your entire life," I snort skeptically.

"True. I lie. I saw McPerky's coat in the lounge, thought I'd see if you took my advice and got laid. Was going to go over to Owen's tonight but if you're all sexed up and blissfully happy then I'm staying. He may be great in the sack but he couldn't cook to save his life. I miss food. There's only so much cereal and grilled cheese sandwiches I can stomach," she grunts coolly.

I splutter incoherently, trying to come up with a sentence to explain how ridiculous she is and failing miserably.

"And I really did think I would be nice and offer you coffee." I simply raise an eyebrow threateningly.

"What with all the rainbow-bright high energy sex, you must be exhausted," she adds.

"We did not have sex!" I interrupt heatedly. "She just stayed the night because we got back late and i didn't want her walking home alone!"

"Your sex hair and sickeningly emotional declarations of love and being matching salt and pepper or whatever says otherwise," she deadpans.

"Cristina! You were eavesdropping on me? Do you have the social sensibility of an amoeba?" I shout indignantly.

"I would come up with an excuse, but we'd both know i'd be lying, so it's a waste of energy. Of course I was. My new textbook doesn't arrive for two fricken days, and nothing was on TV," she states calmly. "Of course, after that, I was dry retching for a solid half hour."

"Uh.. good morning?" Arizona sits up, rubbing her eyes and looking adorably confused.

"Are you Ron Burgundy?" Cristina questions.

"What?" Arizona replies confusedly.  
"Are you not wearing pants?" Cristina adds curiously.

"I uh.. Its a big shirt, I was tired.. are you Cristina?"

"Are you the type of person who makes breakfast after getting laid? Because presuming that excited blabbering is kept to a minimum during the night, then I'm on board with this."

"I'm sorry, what?"

This conversation is giving me a raging headache, and my murderous glances in Cristina's direction would have pulverised a lesser man but what can i say. Pitbull. Where's a muzzle when you need one?

"Cristina! Get out of my room, and make your own damn breakfast. And stop implying what you're implying," I beg.

"What? Just saying you and McPerky get along well." She states innocently while strolling out of the room nonchalantly. I'm confused and have a painful headache, and haven't had any coffee yet. My mental faculties are struggling.

"Brush your hair before leaving. Sex hair suits you so much better, you know. You should work on that. See you, McPerky." Cristina yells as I throw a pillow at her retreating head.

Arizona looks at me with a crease in her forehead and an astonished expression adorning her face.

"What just happened?"

_

**ARIZONA - a few days later**

I clamber out of the pool and against my will, my eyes gravitate back towards the superb sight of Calliope's body, encased in an emerald bikini, accentuating her curves in all the right places. Rivulets of water are flowing across her toned abdomen and without my permission, my eyes follow as they trace a path across caramel skin, sliding torturously lower. After a few more days of study, Callie had aced her first midsemester examination, on gastrointestinal pathology. She was utterly thrilled, and about two seconds away from locking Cristina in her room, so she suggested taking a break for the weekend and hitting up a holiday house about an hour's drive away that her parent's owned and had yet to be repossessed. Glorious clear skies, a barely clothed Calliope, a house approximately the size of Texas.. I was in heaven. As my eyes subtly (I sincerely hoped) traced her exposed curves, my world suddenly tilted upside down. I had tripped over a garden gnome due to a lack of attention to my own path, and rather the path of the water droplets lucky enough to transverse her delicate skin. With a start, I realise my head is bleeding.

Calliope rushes over, a gentle hand steadying me and the other worriedly stroking my forehead.

"Are you ok?" she murmurs apprehensively.

"Its just a flesh wound, I'll just grab a bandaid and meet you in the lounge. Go have your shower, I'll meet you in a bit ok?"

She hesitates before finally acquiescing and heading to the bathroom.

As i search the two kitchens, downstairs bathroom, lounge room and kitchen for any medical supplies, all the while cursing my own unsubtlety, I finally give up and knock on the door where the steam and faint trascendent singing alert me to Calliope's presence. God, she has an amazing voice. I can't take much more, its not fair!

"So, uh..Where exactly are your bandaids?" I enquire sheepishly.

"Sorry, they're in here. Come on in and clean yourself up," she calls back.

I enter the bathroom slowly and search the drawers, when suddenly I hear a set of footsteps running up the staircase. I freeze.

"Cal? Is that you? I stayed here last weekend and left my makeup and stuff here, and I'm seeing Jared tonight and that Loreal lipstick is no longer commercially available! Tragedy, right? Anyway just gotta grab it," the disembodied voice shouts, getting exponentially closer. Callie's face emerges from behind the shower door looking inexplicably panicked.

"My sister, Aria! She can't know you're here!" Callie looks as stressed as I have ever seen her. As the bathroom door starts to open, she yanks on my arm, pulling me into the shower and stumbling against her body, radiating heat. Her arm reaches up and her hand covers my mouth, silencing me as her sister rummages through the bathroom door.

I have approximately a million questions running through my head, regarding why her sister's presence panicked her, why on earth she couldn't know I was here? Why am I standing in a shower with water pulsing over me, fully clothed, soaking my every fiber? But they are mild, insignificant, secondary concerns. Because I am standing in a shower, inches away from the beautiful girl of my dreams, and she is completely naked.

Holy hell.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Big thanks to those who have been reading and reviewing this story, it truly means a lot. I hope you enjoy this chapter! I don't know when i'll next get a chance to update, so I thought to make it up to you I'd make this chapter extra long. Enjoy!**

**CALLIE**

The bathroom door swings closed and sounds starting pounding in my ears once more. The past few moments have been shrouded in an unassailable air of surrealism, as if i have been observing the scene unfold beneath me with a sense of detached curiosity; but my senses are slowly returning to me one by one. The smell of my lime body wash mixed with the distinctive smell of wet clothing. The sound of water pounding down around my body. The feel of Arizona's parted lips under my overheated fingers. The cloying, metallic hint of blood in my mouth, remnants of biting my tongue at some point. The sight of Arizona, her blonde hair cascading beside her face in darkened wet curls, framing an expression of abject confusion, eyes as wide as saucers and defying me for an explanation. Jeans and top soaked through and clinging to her pale skin, almost translucently transparent. I am at a complete loss of words, for the first time in my life. How can I explain what just happened, why I dragged her fully clothed into my shower, without exposing myself far too much? Slowly i remove my hand from her parted lips and turn off the, by now lukewarm, onslaught of the shower. I avoid her gaze and step out of the shower, gripping a towel and putting it around the shoulders of my blonde companion, who is still yet to move out of the cubicle. I start towelling her dry slowly since she seems incapable of moving, cursing my idiocy all the while.

"I'm so sorry, Arizona. My sister, she likes making up gossip. Its her lifeblood. She idolizes Perez Hilton, for god's sake. And the only time I have ever brought anyone here was my first serious ex, the one my parents strongly disapproved of and started this whole tumultuous destructive mess that my familial relationship has devolved into. Traditionally the only time anyone in my family has ever brought anyone to this lake house, is when they're seriously in love. As in ready to declare from a rooftop type love. My sister has only ever brought her ex Tristan here, and she would have done anything for him; he broke her heart, and she hasn't been the same since. And Aria, if she had've seen you here, she would have gone running back to Papa and told him I was having a sordid affair with the hot blonde tutor I've told them about. And I realise that dragging you into the shower was _really _not the smartest move i could have made, but I panicked. Things have been so awful with my family, I just didn't want to add any ammunition to that particular fire. I'm sorry, Arizona." I stop my ministrations as she is no longer dripping wet but still yet to move whatsoever. After a seemingly endless pause, she finally speaks.

"You're still naked, Calliope," she states calmly, but with a rather dazed look adorning her face. I immediately realise that yes, yes I am, and I blush crimson. Hurriedly i rush to the towel rack and grab another towel but in my haste I trip and hit my head against the corner of the basin. With a curse, i realise my head is lightly bleeding. Arizona finally breaks her trance and rushes over with a towel, immediately stroking my hair and gently administering to my wound whilst muttering indistinguishable comforting nonsense in my ear.

"Why is it around you I'm seemingly often a bleeding, rambling mess?" I mutter distractedly, embarrassed that Arizona always seems to see me at my worst, yet humbled by the fact she seems to appreciate me more than any other soul that only ever sees me at my best.

"Hey, pretty sure i've broken the world record on blushing and idiotic statements around you, so you can hardly worry Calliope. Besides, now we match!" she points adorably at her own Wiggles bandaid before placing one gently on my head and finishing by pressing a light kiss triumphantly to my temple.

"You're a dork, Arizona," I say fondly.

She springs up from the bathroom floor and gives me a cheeky once over as she slowly strolls towards the door.

"Maybe, but you're still stark naked, Calliope."

Oh hell.

* * *

**ARIZONA**

It's been three weeks since our "shower incident", as I have taken to referring to that glorious event in my head, and things have been progressing greatly. Super, fantastically awesome.

Oh, who am I kidding.

Now every tutoring session, every day we lay in the park making up ridiculous sordid stories about the passersby, every movie night at my apartment, I can't help picturing her naked. It's exceptionally distracting. I mean, don't get me wrong, my mind had drifted in that direction often enough in the past, while I was teaching her about nerve origins and she starts biting her lip distractedly and oh so sexily. But now.. its not just my imagination anymore. I have seen every glorious curve of that caramel skin, rivulets of water gliding over that toned abdomen. That tiny, unimaginably sensual tribal tattoo on her left hip. I've seen EVERYTHING. And now, my thoughts don't want to go anywhere else. My imagination was vastly underprepared. The real thing ..

I'm screwed.

* * *

**ARIZONA - a week later**

I'm sitting on a couch at Meredith's housewarming party. And I have never been more mad in my entire life. I've had approximately ten thousand toxic purple cocktails that Teddy invented (that girl is lucky she is an amazing med student, because if she were a bartender, that ER would be overpacked on a daily basis). And Calliope is in the kitchen, laughing uproariously at something Mark Sloan said and flicking her raven curls over her shoulder as she takes her 50th shot for the night and raises her arms victoriously as Mark grimaces and slams down his still half full shot. Idiot, taking on a bartender.

Sloan. My insides are tightening in anger. Why am I friends with that pretentious douchebag anyway? At this moment, I cannot for the life of me remember. Teddy stumbles drunkenly over to me and half sits, half collapses across the arm of the sofa I'm occupying. I don't even look up, but continue to glare daggers at Sloan, wishing I was one of those Star Wars Jedi people. They can kill people with just a look, right?

Teddy opens her mouth, looks like she's about to puke for a second, then recovers ungracefully and starts to speak. "Look, you can't be mad at him, ok? That guy would do anything for you. Anything. You tell him to back off, and he will. No questions asked. He's a decent guy. But you've been spending every spare second with that girl, and it's been months, and you still haven't made a move. I, Cristina, and pretty much everyone else may notice the eye fucking you've got going on on a continual basis, but he's a guy. He doesn't see that. All he sees is a hot Latina who happens to be best friends with his best friend. I told you not to let it get to mayor of the friend zone, Zona, but here you are on a sofa sending daggers at Sloan! Why exactly won't you just tell her how you feel? When it's obvious to anyone with half a brain cell that she feels the same way?"

I stand up and sigh, sending one last evil glare in Mark's direction. "Look at the hair flicking. And the laughing. And the sexy counter leaning. For a moment there I thought just maybe I did have a shot, with the naked shower and the constant touching and smiling and sharing absolutely everything, but I was wrong. She's straight. Sloan, George .. So I better just get used to being mayor of the friends zone." I get up, take a swig, and start walking away.

"Zona, I don't think that's true; get off your jealous high zebra and go - wait, what? Naked shower?"

* * *

I'm storming towards the door, ready to get the hell out of here before I find a brick, when i feel a warm hand envelope mine and pull me back.

"Leaving so soon?" a gentle voice whispers in my ear. I say nothing, not trusting myself.

"I've missed you all night. I haven't even seen you properly since yesterday morning. So how about one dance with me, and you can tell me whatever it is that's bothering you. And don't lie, because you're pouting and barely speaking, and I know you. So one dance." Callie states authoritatively and drags me onto the makeshift dancefloor.

Sensing that I'm still not going to talk, Callie spins me round so my back is pressed against her front. Her hands encircle my waist slowly, tentatively, before gripping my hips firmly and pulling me back so my body is pressed fully against hers. My heart is beating rapidly in my chest, and my breathing is shallow. Calliope grinds slowly and sensuously against me, guiding my hips to match her rhythm. I should have known, but by god can she dance. Her chin is hooked over my shoulder as we slowly grind, her face turned slightly and pressed against my neck. Her hands slowly trace over my stomach, etching gentle circles above my shirt and setting me on fire, whilst my arms snake up and reach around her exposed neck. I'm drunk, i know she's very drunk, but I don't even care. I don't care how public this is. I don't care about anything in this world apart from the feeling of Calliope, against me, all over me. As my breathing gets shallower and I start to lose sense of where I am, of who I am, Cristina walks over and gives an amused snort in our direction.

"Naked showering and dancefloor grinding two seconds away from making 50 Shades of Grey look tame, yet still no sex. I'll never understand you," she grunts before heading towards the dining room table and pouring the open tequila bottle into her mouth. Callie embarrassedly pulls away, spins me in a circle and drops me dangerously close to the floor in a ridiculously dramatic dip, and I let out a laugh. Milk and cookies are back.

* * *

**CALLIE**

By some unspoken agreement, we head towards my apartment, safe in the knowledge that Cristina will mainline tequila until Mer's sofa beckons and her liver can't hold out anymore. We stumble into my apartment, flinging jackets and bags haphazardly across the lounge. Her warm, impossibly soft hand hasn't left mine since we left Meredith's. It made traversing the living room rather difficult, but her grip never falters. I aim a kick at the general direction of my bedroom door, but my stiletto flies off my foot, reaches an alarmingly high arc and slams into the window, shattering the glass and missing my bedroom door by a good ten feet. I'm a little impressed that the force of my kick was enough to shatter glass, although come morning I'm certain I won't be this cheerful over my newfound thigh power. As I feel Arizona's hand tremble in mine, I glance over and realise her entire body is shaking with laughter. It's at this point that I start to realise just how drunk we actually are.

"Oh, laugh it up now, cookies, but I blame you entirely. Your vice grip on my arm threw off my balance. The window repair is coming out of your tutoring budget, I hope you realise. Oh, Cristina's going insist on an interview process for the glazier's, isn't she?" I groan halfheartedly and glare at Arizona, but one look into those mirth-filled blue pools and I know she's not taking me seriously. With a sigh, I allow how to pull me into my bedroom.

I stumble over towards my dresser, shedding layers as I walk, leaving a trail of clothes littering my crooked path. I arrive at my destination clad only in my red silk bra and underwear, disproportionately happy to have successfully circumnavigated the desk without grievous harm to either the furniture or my person. As I pull out my baggy, faded Planet of the Apes shirt and slip it over my head, struggling to find the damn hole to poke my head through, I hear her, barely loud enough to reach my ears from the doorway; but it rings in my ears as loud and clear as a gunshot.

"God, you're so beautiful."

Suddenly, I am stone cold sober. The fog previously occupying my mind is lifted, my head is no longer swimming, my sense of hilarity in everything has evaporated; all I am left with from the bottle of vodka I've imbibed is a heightened sense of courage. I turn around slowly as my eyes find her lone figure in the doorway, bathed in light from the kitchen we have neglected to turn off, and with her soft blonde curls framing her face, she looks almost ethereal. As I pull the shirt down over my torso, I see her eyes tracing the lines of my legs, sliding across my stomach, my chest before reaching my face. As soon as her eyes finally meet mine, she wrenches them tightly shut, and takes a half step backwards, as if trying to distance herself from the words hanging precariously in the space between us.

I take a step forward. "You, Arizona, never look anything short of breathtaking." I murmur softly. Her eyes are still closed. I take a step closer, decreasing the distance between us once again. Her chest is rising up and down rapidly, but she betrays no other sign of movement, her eyes still tightly clenched shut.

I step closer, now only inches away from her.

"Here, something for you to change into. That dress may hug you in a way that makes it difficult for most mere mortals to think, but it can't be that comfortable to sleep in," I joke softly. She opens her eyes slowly, meeting mine for the first time since her unexpected declaration, but makes no effort to move or accept the proffered shirt. We stand, in perfect silence, for what feels like hours. And she's still not moving. Before the last of my Russian courage deserts me, I slowly encircle my arms around her until my hand is resting on the silver zip between her shoulderblades. She seems completely incapable of moving anytime soon. Slowly, hesitantly, I slide the zip down, until my hand is lightly resting on the base of her spine. Carefully, I trail my hands up the sides of her torso, resting for a minute on her shoulders before grasping the thin blue fabric of her shoulder straps. Her eyes are locked on mine, giving nothing away, but the atmosphere between us is charged with electricity. My hands rest on the tips of her shoulders, playing gently with the fabric, waiting for acknowledgement, for permission to continue with whatever it is I'm doing. Slowly, her eyes never leaving mine, Arizona raises her arms slightly from her sides, and before my mind can understand it, my fingers are sliding down across her shoulders, her toned arms, her elbows, her pale smooth forearms, taking the material with it until my fingers trail down the sides of her hips and her dress is pooled at her feet. I slowly straighten up into a standing position and gently pull the t-shirt over her head, firmly smoothing it down her torso until she is clothed again and my hands are resting on her hips.

I'm not sure how long we stand there, lost in the moment, finally starting to acknowledge what is going on between us, but my hands are tracing soft circles over the small prominence of her hip bones, my heart is racing beneath my ribcage, and her eyes have darkened from their usual sparkling sky blue, into a darker, stormy ocean hue. I know its desire. My heart is beating a frantic tattoo in my chest.

I don't remember the conscious decision to do so, but suddenly I am leaning forwards and my lips are brushing over hers, lightly, tentatively. For all my Russian courage, I am suddenly desperately scared that maybe I've fucked it all up. But for the first time, Arizona moves. Her hands reaching up and tangling in my hair, pulling me inexorably closer. Her tongue is insistent and demanding, tracing a pattern over my swollen lower lip before seeking entrance to my mouth, and battling for dominance with my tongue. My hands are on her hips, tracing her stomach, encircling her waist, pulling her desperately closer. Her fingers are entangled in my hair, stroking my neck, ghosting across my collarbone, stroking my back; they are everywhere, all at once. My mind hears a low, sexy moan, and I'm unsure of whose mouth it originated from. My body is on fire, and I am impossibly tangled in all things Arizona Robbins. As she presses her body forward and my back gently collides with the door, increasing the pressure between our contact, I feel as though all the nerve endings across my skin are pulsating. As the need for oxygen becomes increasingly hard to ignore, I slowly pull back and rest my forehead against hers. Her eyes are shut tight, one hand buried my hair and the other resting lightly at the base of my spine, underneath my shirt. Her breathing is shallow and rapid.

I'm exhausted. I have been waging an internal battle with myself, ever since I caught those wide blue eyes staring at abject horror at my bleeding lip for the first time. It has been exhausting, constantly forcing myself to drag my eyes away from her body, training my fingers to resist softly brushing a stray curl off her face, contain the growing desire I felt for my best friend. It took an inordinate amount of my willpower to remember to control my words, and my actions, around her. And suddenly tonight, amidst a battalion of shots and inappropriate dance floor moves, my carefully constructed world had fallen apart around me. And I wanted to savour the beginnings of the change in our relationship. Before we went too far, I wanted to remember every curve of her body, every freckle, every nuance, every gasp from her salty lips. I didn't want it to be a drunken fumble that would be hazy come the harsh light of day. I wanted to remember everything. Placing a last lingering kiss on her swollen lips, I reclaim her hand and drag her softly across to my bed.

"Let's go to sleep." I wrap my arm across her stomach, bury my nose in the curls encompassing her neck and rapidly drift off.

* * *

**ARIZONA**

Sunlight is piercing through my eyelids and making my face uncomfortably flush, and the birds loudly trilling outside the window are making me feel more and more sympathetic towards Sylvester the cat's plight. As the feeling returns to my throbbing head, the remnants of a hangover makes the world spin off-kilter. I'm suddenly aware of a thigh draped possessively over my legs, and a hand resting under my shirt on the bare skin of my stomach, subconsciously stroking gentle circles over my ribs. Since when am I the little spoon? I start wondering indignantly before the more pressing concern of the identity of the mystery woman in my bed emerges. But as my eyes flutter around the room, taking in the familiar 1960's movie poster, the carved mahogany dresser, the black laced combat boots lying haphazardly by the door.. I'm in Calliope's room. In Calliope's bed. Suddenly my mind screeches into action, and images of the previous night flood before my eyes. The party. The comment, slipping out of my mouth before I can think to restrain it. The undressing, the darkening of her brown orbs as she torturously slid my dress off me. The kiss. Oh god, that kiss. Suddenly my every nerve ending is on fire as I remember the most passionate, intense kiss of my life.

But just as suddenly, I remember the 50 shots Callie imbibed at the housewarming party. The drunken high kick leaving a shattered window; the stumbling walk home, the riotous laughter at the very unamused cab driver. The laughing with Mark. My stomach curls and I feel sick. Calliope was beyond intoxicated last night. I stiffen and slowly slide my body away from her warm embrace, and slide until my body is almost hanging precariously over the edge of the bed. My mind can't really comprehend what I did last night, and I'm struggling to come up with a game plan. Because I can't lose her, I can't lose my best friend, the milk to my cookies, just because I can't keep my raging hormones in check.

I feel the bed shift as Calliope slowly wakes. She stretches her arm above her head and lets out a satisfied groan at the stretch. Against my will, my eyes wander to the toned caramel skin of her abdomen as her shirt rises, blushing as I remember the silky feel of her skin against my urgent fingers last night. I edge further away, as if my thoughts are transparent. They probably are.

"Hey," she smiles sleepily, raising a hand to brush a stray lock of hair away from my eyes. My pulse quickens and the familiar rush of blood to my face threatens to give me away, yet again. Friends do this all the time, I remind myself desperately as her fingers gently muss my hair. "Feeling ok?"

"Great!" My head beats painfully and I pull away from her hand as if I've been burnt. She's already my everything. I panic. I hop out of bed and pace the opposite side of the bed. "I barely remember a thing about last night! Last thing I can remember is some ridiculous purple cocktail Teddy invented and then waking up here! Crazy night, hey!" My voice is two octaves higher than it should be, I sound like Minnie mouse on helium. My only hope is that she doesn't remember anything from last night, and that we can go back to normal and lay in the park making up ridiculous stories about the people walking by. I remind myself of George. Flirting with the insatiable Sloan. She's straight. I just hope with every fiber of my being that I haven't wrecked everything beyond repair last night.

Her hands stop moving, and her eyes are inscrutable as they bore into me. She remains silent for so long, my body starts shaking. "You don't remember anything after those cocktails? The trip home? Coming here?" Her expression is still unreadable. I'm beyond scared. It's a new feeling, and I can't stomach it.

"Nope, my mind is a complete blank! Must have been pretty powerful hey, remind me to never let her invent another alcoholic beverage again!" I ramble, unable to glance at her face for more than a second at a time. "Do you.. do you remember? Did I do anything embarrassing? I mean.. You don't remember anything too, right?" My eyes are pleading with her. She stares me down for what seems like an eternity before replying, her voice flat and devoid of emotion.

"I guess I don't remember either. Some drink."

We both know she's lying. I have no idea what to think. She sits up straighter and peels the doona off her. I studiously try not to stare at her exposed legs.

"Did you know your friend Mark asked me out last night?" She asks conversationally. She is watching me intently. I am careful to keep my face impassive, not letting a crack of my emotions show.

"Are you going to say yes?" My heart is pounding in my chest. I feel as though I am physically in pain, as though someone has reached into my stomach and pulled it out infinitesimally slowly through my throat. I feel sick. And violent. I want to hit Mark Sloan in the face with a brick and break his stupid, perfectly proportioned nose.

"I don't know.. He seems like a nice enough guy, but I don't really know that we would .. fit.." Her words are cryptic, her expression still frustratingly impossible to read.

"Do you want me to say no to him?"

I stare at my hands. How am I supposed to answer that honestly, when doing so will leave me every inch exposed? She is straight, otherwise she wouldn't be asking my permission to date my very manly friend. Ex-friend, really. I don't see how I am supposed to be around him whilst remaining homicide-free at the moment. She is my milk, and I am her cookies. I can't lose her.

"I think that if you want to, then you should say yes. Nothing else is stopping you. You'd make a very hot couple," the joke falls flat. She stares awhile longer in silence, before abruptly getting up and rummaging through her dresser at a frantic pace.

"Ok then. Good to know how you feel about it." She's throwing on clothes haphazardly, barely looking at them, and throwing her hair back in a messy ponytail. I have a feeling she wants to get out of here as fast as humanly possible. My mind is racing, and I have no idea what to think. I'm panicked.

"Where are you going? You live here! I thought maybe we could do breakfast or something .. " my voice trails off as she spins around to face me, and her eyes, which I haven't been able to bring myself to look at until this very moment, look impossibly angry.

"Forgot, said I'd help Joe out with some inventory this morning. Help yourself to breakfast, a shower, whatever. I won't be back til later." It's 8am on a Sunday; she's lying. I feel like I've blockaded myself in with no escape. She fixes me with one last sad glance, before racing out of the apartment.

"See you round, Arizona." The door shuts with a resounding finality. After hours of listless lying and agonizing, my phone beeps with an incoming text message. I frantically fumble through my purse until I find it, desperately hoping its Calliope. Instead, my heart constricts.

_Mark [12:31pm]: Blondie! Asked your hot Spanish friend out last night and she flat out rejected me, said there was someone else. I thought she was lying, and I was right because she just agreed to coffee date later! Sloan is back, baby! Thanks for talking me up this morning or whatever you did, I owe you one Blondie._

I run to the bathroom and empty my stomach contents. I feel sick.

**A/N: Please don't hate me! Or Callie.. or Arizona. I promise that everything will get explained, why Arizona is freaking out so much and so unsure etc.. And it will all work out, I promise!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Next chapter! Thank you so much for reading and letting me know what you think of this story, I truly appreciate it, your reviews make my day :) **

* * *

**THREE MONTHS LATER**

**ARIZONA**

As the closing credits to Madagascar scroll across the TV, I slowly stand up and stretch my legs with an audible crack before heading over to my bookshelves to grab the requisite study material, taking a moment to compose my thoughts and make my expression impassive. It's become my weekly routine before heading to the library, or the park if the weather permits (which is rare), for my tutoring sessions with Calliope. Grab books. Outline plan. Ten deep breaths. Close my eyes. Run a movie through my head – Mark stroking her hair, Calliope laughing. Calliope shaking her raven curls and flashing those pearly whites. Continuing the scene until I start to feel nauseous. It's a painful routine, but the preparation and overexerting my imagination is enough to make my face an impenetrable mask when I see her. It's become an oddly comforting routine, actually. Teddy unfolds herself from the sofa and grabs me by the shoulders, turning me around until I cannot avoid her gaze.

"Enough", she states simply.

"What are you talking about?" I stare her down, challenging her. But Teddy's not one to back down either. We're both too stubborn. We once had a six month blackout on pizza because we couldn't back down on whether pineapple belongs on pizza (for the record, it does not. Hot pineapple? Wrong on so many levels). She continues to stare at me, and I can feel my resolve crumbling beneath her steely yet comforting gaze.

"We're friends now, ok? Things were a bit tense for awhile, it was like tutoring in the Antarctic. Icy doesn't begin to describe it. But things are mostly back to normal now. We study. We laugh. We invent ridiculous back stories for the vendors in the park. We have movie nights. She cooks me dinner. I attempt to cook and set the fire alarms off and every time she swears she's never letting me near a stove again if she wants to keep her eyebrows. We're back to being milk and cookies, ok?" I state authoritatively. It's true, really.

Teddy runs a hand through her hair frustratedly. "And the fact that she's dating your best friend, who you now actively avoid and haven't spent any time with in the past month, and the fact that you're desperately in love with her; do you talk and laugh about that too?" she challenges.

I feel the hackles on the back of my neck rise. I bristle. I consider arguing the declaration that I'm in love with her, but there's no point. We both know it. I've practically got it stamped on my forehead. "We don't talk about Mark. We don't have movie nights when he's there, we just .. sidestep that topic."

"WHY are you trying so hard to fight this? WHY are you being so ridiculously stubborn about this when it's obvious to everyone with half a brain cell that you two are meant for eachother? She kisses you and practically tears your clothes off and you go ahead and deny it the next morning? For the love of god Arizona, why are you actively trying so hard to deny yourself happiness? I truly don't understand it; I don't understand you!" she yells.

I step closer, into her personal space, until we are inches apart, and let rip right back.

"You know what happened with Natalie! You were THERE! She ripped my heart and I wasn't _me_ anymore. I didn't know who I was. I was lost, and she just ripped me until there were so many pieces of me that it was beyond my capability to put myself back together again. You _know_ that, Teddy. Two years together, my first girlfriend, the one I told everything to, the one I poured everything into, the one who knew every inch of my soul, who then decided the _experiment_ had gone on long enough, and asked nonchalantly if I would mind if she kept the mural I had spent four months preparing for us because it would really fit the décor in the new place she was renting with Charlie. She eviscerated my heart, Teds, you know that. And I feel a thousand times more for Calliope than I ever did for Nat, and I've known Callie less than a year. Tell me, Teddy, if you want to be the one picking up the pieces again once she decides the va-vacation in lesbianland is over and she starts searching for the next incompetent owner of a sixpack and chiselled jaw ; do you want that responsibility? Because I'm telling you now, six months won't be enough. Five years won't be enough. You'll get tired of trying to fit me back together, because the damage will be irreparable." My body is shaking with exertion, with self-righteous anger and fear. Tears I didn't know had formed leave a salty taste on my shaking lips.

Teddy's expression becomes more pained, and she pulls me in for a strong hug, not letting go until my shaking has somewhat halted. Her hand remains cupping the back of my head, stroking soothingly while she stares sadly into my eyes.

"I know that Nat broke a part of you. You may be back to your dimply, cheery self now, and it was years ago and you're well and truly over it, but she broke a part of you for good. The part that believes in others, the part that will accept love at face value and not look for the hidden terms and conditions. The part that believed in herself, and that you were meant to be loved! I hate sounding like a Hallmark card, but it's true. Ever since her, you've had girlfriends, but never anyone serious."

I start to object, but she glares at me good-naturedly and I shut up.

"You've dated, admittedly some hotties, but nothing serious. You've never let yourself date anyone who would challenge you, who _understands _you, who you'll let all the way in. You always had a built-in escape route. And that's ok, you're young, you're hot, you've got a figure and charm I'd kill for, but that's besides the point. Maybe you're young, but you and Callie.. you're the real deal. Anyone with eyes can see that. I think you just have to have a little faith this time."

I pull away, believing her words, but scared beyond belief. Because a part of me knows that everything she's saying is true, but a bigger part of me keeps picturing her laughing with Sloan, with the faceless George, and my heart twists painfully. I can't survive being another experiment, when I'm in so painfully deep already. I don't know what to do.

But I pull Teddy in for a quick heartfelt hug. Because without her, I'd be so far adrift the US Coastguard couldn't find me.

* * *

**CALLIE**

I arrive at the library at half past 3, rushing loudly past a stuffy librarian who lets out a huff of disapproval, but one arched eyebrow in her direction and she swivels quickly around to restock the shelves without a word.

I plop dramatically down onto the seat across from a smirking Arizona and open my textbook quickly.

"I'm sorry I'm late! It was.. traffic? Terrible this time of year," I deadpan.

"You had lectures this morning, Calliope. You've been on campus since 8am," Arizona levels at me with a raised eyebrow.

"My last lecture ran late, Dr Webber just goes off on a tangent and will not shut up," I venture.

"Your last lecture finished three hours ago. I have an awesome memory, and besides I know your timetable better than you do, Calliope," Arizona grins.

"The rain?" The statement comes out as more of a question.

"It's a rare, beautiful sunny day," Arizona retorts.

"Ok, fine!" I surrender, throwing my hands up in the air. "I fell asleep, ok? I was in lecture hall B, and Dr Webber really does bore the proverbial pants off me, and I fell asleep, and Cristina and Meredith thought it would be more conducive to decorate my face with marker and leave me in the room than to wake me up when it ended. So I woke up 10 minutes ago, in the middle of a lecture about suburban infrastructure planning, a sharpie moustache and whiskers on my face, and ran to the bathroom and spent ten minutes attempting to remove it from my face, ok?" I mutter.

Arizona lets out a peal of laughter, and it a good five minutes before she has calmed down enough to look at me again.

As she attempts to cover up another snort of laughter as a sneeze, rather unconvincingly, I feel the need to defend myself.

"I had a legitimate reason, ok? I was out last night shopping, trying to find the perfect present, and I didn't get home until 1am," I say.

Arizona stills, and the laughter leaves her eyes. "A present.. for Mark?" she manages to say, looking uncomfortable. In the three months we've been dating, Arizona and I have avoided that topic like the plague. Things just seemed easier that way. But now, Arizona is trying.

"No, actually… for you," I mutter.

"For me? Why?" Arizona looks adorably confused. I'm finding it difficult to look at her, so I start rummaging overenthusiastically through my bag.

"This year, I have aced my exams. I found myself actually enjoying neurology, which is a sentence I never thought I'd say. You made flash cards for me. You brought me little models of the digestive tract. You have a plush toy prostate. Arizona, the only reason I have done so well this year is you. You have gone above and beyond what a tutor, or even a friend, is ever required to do. And I just wanted to say thanks," I mutter, pulling a box out of my satchel and placing it in front of her, studiously avoiding her gaze.

I can hear her tearing open the paper, but I still can't look into her eyes. Only when she lets out a little squeak of excitement and I feel her arms enveloping me do I relax.

"Heelys? You got me Heelys? You do realise you're going to have to come to the park and help me learn how to be a rockstar on these, right?" She says, still not letting go. I am inordinately excited; her enthusiasm is infectious. She is still hugging me tightly, stroking my back, one hand buried in my hair, and she whispers into my ear. "Thank you, Calliope. So much."

Something inside me snaps. I stiffen and pull away.

"I just remembered that I have something I have to do. Something urgent. It just can't wait any longer. I'm sorry," I pull away and run out of the library. I can't look at her face right now. But I know there's something I desperately need to do.

* * *

The metallic clang of the dragon knocker echoes through the spacious apartment, and soon the door is open and Mark stands before me, fresh from a shower, shirtless and adorned only in a towel.

"Why hello, babe-. Miss me already?" he smirks, leaning in for a kiss. I tilt my head awkwardly to the side, and his lips instead graze my cheek. He pulls away, looking concerned.

I stride determinedly over to the couch, and sit down, gesturing for him to join me. He strides over and sits down, before letting out a sigh. "I figured I'd have at least another month before you figured it out and we came to this," he smirks sadly.

"You .. you know why I'm here?" I stutter. I'd prepared an entire speech on the walk over, but once again the enigmatic Sloan has managed to surprise me. Our whole relationship this past three months, he had been so uncharacteristically sweet and caring, which makes my stomach tighten painfully as I think about why I'm here.

"You're here to break up with me," he states matter-of-factly, reaching over to pick up a scotch glass and take a long sip.

"I .. I'm sorry, Mark." I say sadly. And I truly mean it. I am sorry. He is a genuinely sweet guy, despite the act he puts on, and I've come to care about him, even if my motivations for accepting his first offer were far from noble.

"I've known this was coming for awhile, but I thought I might be wrong, you know? When I asked you out, I had no idea that the two of you were what you were. I mean, Mer and Cristina have their own freaky twisted-sisters thing going on, I thought it was just that. But then, I saw you together last week in the park. You didn't know I was there. I was coming to surprise you with a study break and some flowers, and .. you were lying on the grass in the park. You were laughing, and she was stroking your hand and pointing at the clouds, and I don't think either of you even knew it, but you were always touching. She fell asleep, and you were just watching her sleep with this look on your face. This contented, serene look. And I realised you never looked at me that way, no matter how much I wanted you to. When you reached up and stroked her hair behind her hair behind her ear while she was sleeping, I knew that I'd lost. How am I supposed to compete with that? Suddenly the fact that we haven't had sex yet made a whole lot of sense," he says with a laugh, draining his drink.

I am stunned into silence. I had no idea he knew how I felt about Arizona. How could he, when I'd spent the past 3 months, hell, nearly the past year, attempting to deny it to myself?

"Mark.. I.." I start but trail off, completely unsure of where to go.

"Hey, its ok, Callie. If you can look at this and remain clothed, you must have it bad for Blondie," he says, gesturing towards his glistening wet six-pack. I let out a half laugh, half sob. He pulls me closer on the sofa into a one-armed hug and kisses the side of my forehead softly.

"It's ok, Callie. Really. You can't help who you love," he says, a hint of sadness tinging his words, and I wonder how it is that I'm breaking up with him and he's the one comforting me.

We stay like that, motionless on the couch, for an eternity.

* * *

**ARIZONA**

My doorbell rings. I pad softly over as a storm rages outside, illuminating the Seattle nightline every few seconds and reminding me of my insignificance, the insignificance of my problems, in the face of all this. I slowly travel past the littering of donut boxes, and half empty packet of Marlboro lights, a testament to my wallowing self-misery. After buying me Heelys, Callie ditched me in the library, and I have no idea why. I've heard nothing. Its 3am. Suddenly I'm petrified, after remembering Lexie's recent rant about the rate of home invasions in Seattle in the early hours of the morning, and I'm cursing her enclopaediac knowledge for revealing many things to me that I was quite happy being blissfully ignorant about. I pick up a desk lamp in the shape of three dancing monkeys as a makeshift weapon. I pull open the door, hesitantly, monkey lamp above my head, and find her standing there. Her hair hangs softly in wet ringlets, framing her face. Her jeans are soaked, her singlet clings to her skin semi-translucently; little rivulets of water are still sluicing down her leather jacket, and dripping softly to the carpet. Her carefully applied eyeliner is smudged, doing little to hide a hint of redness. In retrospect though, what sort of home invader would ring the doorbell?

As the lamp thuds softly to the ground, all I can think is, never has Calliope looked so utterly beautiful, or so utterly wrecked.

"Tell me you remember." Her arms are crossed defensively across her chest, but her eyes are pleading with me, begging me. Both of us know what she is referring to, but there is still a fragment of my mind that maintains that this isn't what I want it to be. Wishful thinking. Projection of my inner desires. She is my best friend, and as much as I don't want to admit it to myself, this past three months I've realised that she is my everything. Without her by my side, the dimples aren't there anymore. Without hearing about her day, I can't bring myself to care about the stupidly bold-and-the-beautiful style dramas of my peers. I make jokes, but they fall flat. I cannot lose her.

We both know what she is referring to, but I steadfastly ignore it.

"What are you talking about? Look I'm sorry about the library, maybe I got overexcited, but I mean who wouldn't over sneakers with wheels in the heels, right? I-"

"Stop, Arizona." She says forcefully. "Just stop."

"Stop what? I'm just trying to get things back to how they were, we were good, we were –"

Each word, each moment she is stepping closer, inside my doorway, inside my personal space, and each time I freeze and take a step back, until my back is pressed against the living room wall, and our bodies are inches apart.

"The night of Meredith's housewarming party. Tell me you don't remember. Look me in the eyes, and tell me you don't remember what happened." She is openly pleading with me, begging, her glistening eyes pushing daggers into my heart. My eyes dart across her body, needing to look anywhere but the brown crystal orbs that are a direct gateway to her soul. They flutter across her smooth collarbone, the two vampiric freckles on the arch of her neck that I tease her about relentlessly, the soaked fabric sticking to her toned abdomen, until her hand is under my chin, forcing my gaze to meet hers.

"Tell me. Please, just tell me."

I say nothing. My mouth is frozen, my limbs feel heavy and useless, as if they are no longer under the control of my mind. I say nothing.

She steps back, and the look in her eyes is one I have never seen before. She looks broken. I have broken her. From that first meeting where I opened a door onto her beautiful face, to this present moment, I continue to break her. But my mind still fails to comprehend the gravity of the situation. Because we can't be broken. We are Callie and Arizona, we are milk and cookies. We cannot be broken.

"I can't always be the one, Arizona." There are tears mixing with the remnants of her exposure to the storm outdoors, ghosting down her cheeks. "I keep trying over, and over, and over again but you won't ever meet me fucking halfway, Arizona! I know this isn't just me, I know that you know it, but I can't keep fighting over and over again, when its always me out balancing on the tightrope, alone! I'm putting the boxing gloves away now, Arizona, because you're never going to meet me halfway, and I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of putting myself out there only for you to stand idly by as the ground collapses under my feet and you won't lift a finger; I'm tired of chasing after you when you never stop running long enough to even let me catch up. I'm tired. You win."

The door slams with a resounding finality, and it's only now I realise my shirt is wet with my own tears and I've fallen to my knees.

I sprint down the wet road as fast as my legs will move me, willing the world to slow down. Chasing after the lone black leather jacket that is forlornly walking down the street, out of my neighbourhood, out of my life. All because I am the world's biggest idiot and refused to acknowledge what was being offered to me on a plate. I had looked the gift horse in the mouth over and over again, all because I couldn't fathom that it was real, because it was all I wanted and I refused to believe that it could actually be happening. I had looked that gift horse sceptically one too many times, and now I'd spooked it and my dream was galloping away. Because I am such a colossal idiot.

"Calliope! Stop!" I scream, and see the soaked body falter, before marching determinedly onwards.

"Stop, ok! I'm chasing after you this time! I'm the one running after you, I know that I've been an idiot, the world's biggest idiot, but I just couldn't believe that you, the most miraculously amazing woman I have ever had the good fortune to lay my eyes on, let alone befriend, could possibly want me! My brain just refused to believe it. You're dating Mark, and you were with George for so long, and I just couldn't bring myself to even consider the possibility that you felt even a millionth of what I felt for you! So my brain disengaged, because I was so afraid that I would lose you as a friend, and I thought that I would rather have you at arm's length, secretly pining for you and admiring your every curve and Spanish curse and kickass stitch, than to even contemplate my world without you in it! Because you're my everything, ok? You're my everything!"

My lungs are on fire with the effort of a non-fit occasionally smoking person's mad sprint across a dark wet road, however I see her steps falter, and eventually stop in the middle of the road at the end of my ramblings. I ignore the stabbing pains in my chest, and the jeers of a few annoyed neighbours who probably haven't appreciated my exceptionally loud declaration before the sun is up, but I need her to know that I am meeting her halfway. I will chase her to the ends of the earth. I keep running. She remains stationary in the road, not facing me yet, but not running away either. She always has been the strong one, and I am determined, for once, to match that strength, and to take the burden, and let her lean on me. Depend on me. I inhale sharply and prepare to be strong, and to jump off the deep end and into the unknown.

"I'm in love with you, Calliope Torres. Since the first moment I saw you in that dingy bar, I have been irrevocably, exponentially in love with you."

She turns around, and the smile on my face immediately drops as I see tears streaming down her cheeks. Have I been right all along? She's my best friend but I've fucked it all up because she only sees me platonically and I've shot my mouth off at 3:30am in the middle of the street with rambling declarations of love?

"Happy tears, Arizona. Happy tears." She steps off the curb onto the street and starts walking back towards me, and my heart feels like its exploding in my chest. Like when the Grinch's heart grows three sizes and breaks the measuring machine at Christmas. It is beating ridiculously fast, like a hummingbird has taken rest inside my chest cavity.

Until my world falls apart in the space of a heartbeat. Until a black SUV, going twice the speed limit without headlights swerves erratically around the corner and plows into the lone leather-clad figure in the centre of the road before mounting the curb amidst a ugly hissing of burning rubber, and wraps the bonnet around a tree trunk. As the grill hits her legs with a sickening crack, as her forehead collides with the windscreen and spidery cracks leech across the glass, as her body collides with the asphalt, her limbs at unnatural angles and a pool of crimson encases her unmoving body. Then, my heart stops.

**A/N: Please don't hate me! I feel I should go hide behind some furniture now..**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Sorry it has been soo long since I updated! Had a massively busy week, beyond the pale it was ridiculous. And then my internet died! Had a massive battle with the internet company that took over a week and a half. They're bastards, basically! So only got internet again tonight, but I felt so guilty about it being so long since I updated that I thought I better give you something! And I will update again tomorrow. Sorry again!**

* * *

**ARIZONA**

Caliopes' blood is slowly staining the asphalt, leaking out of her, leeching the life out of her at a rate that seems completely contradictory to her impulsively rapid disposition. She's usually so full of energy; her raven locks are forever cascading in every direction, her eyes darting rapidly, distracted by the slightest blur of movement. Her body is forever in motion – twisting, turning, the subtle up and down of her thigh as she tries to concentrate, the absent strumming of her fingers against the tabletop or my electrified arm, the tip of her tongue tracing the smooth curvature of her teeth or poking distractedly into the side of her left cheek as she ponders something particularly thought-provoking. But now, she is utterly motionless. Unnatural. It is causing my chest to constrict painfully, and my lungs no longer function. Breathing is no longer involuntary, and I've forgotten how to activate these muscles; I no longer have the capability to force them into action, and my lungs are burning with a dire lack of oxygen. I don't even recognise it. Somehow, I have ended up beside her, but I don't remember moving; time is moving with a strange fluidity that defies physics and logic, but all I want is to go back in time 10 seconds ago; to a parallel universe, to where Calliope admitted she loved me, and my heart was on fire with an entirely different element of desire. I want that fluidity to spill out of her bronzed skin as she glides towards me and envelops me in her toned arms, my lungs contracting with the effort of breathing with her luscious lips whispering delicate declarations and dirty diatribes into my all too willing ear. Isn't that how it goes in movies? Characters struggle, they overcome their fear, they reach their happy ending and run off into the sunset to live out their idyllic fantasies. How is it fair that someone like Calliope, a gorgeous, tormented, extroverted, beautifully enigmatic soul could get mowed down by a bastard who mainlined a carton of draught and thought a joyride was a pragmatic idea? I've lived my life by a guideline of fair moral equality. What happens, is serendipity. It happens for a reason, and while I may not see it at the time, there is some form of grand design, some overriding architecture, that overrides it. There has to be a rhyme to the reason, to offer some form of justification to the craziness that envelopes us. This is how I have always perceived the world, because without it, what hope do we have when people are blowing eachother up in the name of religion, and people are setting fires and destroying lives to quench their unsatisfied boredom? What do we have left?

Right now, my hand shaking as I wipe trails of crimson gently away from Calliope's pale lips; I don't remember my feet moving towards her, but suddenly my hand is coated in blood, Calliope's blood, my breath is tracing over her face, willing some of my life force to somehow flow into her and force those chocolate pools to flutter open again. I don't remember how to be a doctor. I don't remember how to stop the bleeding. I don't remember what to do, whether moving her right leg, which is at a heartbreakingly unnatural angle to her hip, would help or hinder her. I don't know what the unnatural pallor of her face indicates. I don't know what to do to help her breathe again. I don't know how to make my lungs breathe again, but that unnatural burn in my thorax doesn't even register. I don't know my name. I don't know anything, except that my life feels inextricably linked to hers, and without her laughing, without her moving, without her breathing, I don't know how exactly to live anymore.

I press my lips to hers with a desperate ferociousness, breathing frenzied air into her mouth, stroking her hair, pumping her chest with an urgent unnatural haste. The metallic taste of blood coats my mouth. I don't know how to be a doctor. I don't know how to be me. I don't know how to be.

Her auburn eyes flutter open, and I am relieved and panicked at the same time. They're there, fluttering over my face, tracing my features, but there's no Calliope sparkle. Her breathing is shallow and pained, every quiver of her eyelids causes a grimace to flash over her features. I am muttering things, ridiculous statements about our future, her skin, her touch, and I'm not even cognizant of my speech until her index finger reaches up, with an unnaturally superhuman effort, and grazes ever so slightly over my tearstained lips.

She can only manage one word, one solitary word before she succumbs to the darkness that has been enveloping her, but it says everything.

"Cookies," she spits out with a crooked grimace.

It says everything. She manages to look at me with such tenderness and love that I wonder how on earth I could have possibly doubted that we were destined to spend the rest of our lives entwined in a Snuggie on a porchswing, making up ridiculous stories about the postmen and stealing surreptitious glances across the balcony. And some drunken bastard took that away from me in one shattering moment. My hand finds hers, cold and clammy in my grip, and I am struck with an overwhelming irrational fear that if I let go, she will cease to be. Calliope will cease to exist if she isn't connected to this earthly world through me, through my touch. I'm not even aware the paramedics have arrived until the flashing blue and red lights are streaking across her pale bloodstained skin and they are tugging none to gently on my shoulders, trying to get access to intubate her. I can't let go; my hand is welded to hers and I am screaming, an unnatural high pitched keen emanating gutturally from my throat. It takes all four to peel me away from her, and I'm flailing, trying to get into the ambulance, desperate for one last look as they slam the doors closed in my face.

They speak to me, but nothing registers except the fact that they have taken her away from me, and her hand is no longer enclosed in mine. As the ambulance screams into the distance, I am aware of two things. One, I have to get in my car and get to the hospital and claw my way to Calliope. But first, I have something that must be done.

I stride slowly, unnaturally calmly, over towards the SUV wrapped menacingly around a pole. I sidestep the police officers and ambulance workers removing the twisted metal frame of the driver door. I reach the driver, unconscious and bleeding, and pull him roughly from the wreckage onto the hard asphalt awash in spilt blood. Before anyone can react, my hand is connecting with his jaw, and I feel a sickening, satisfying crack. Again and again, my arm pulls back and connects with his face until the officers forcibly pull me away and his blood is intermingling with Calliope's upon the hard ground. This is the first time I have ever hit anyone in my life, and I notice with detached disinterest that my knuckles are raw, purple and swollen. I shake the officer off and stride towards my car, jumping in and screaming towards the hospital. My seatbelt is undone. Blood mats my hair. I feel numb. Actually, no. I wish I felt numb. But every nerve is alight and screaming. I wish I felt numb.

I have been sitting in the waiting room for the longest four hours of my life. My hands are still slowly dripping blood onto the vinyl floor, but I've been so aggravated at anyone who attempts to clean them that the ER staff have finally given up and left me alone, sparing an occasional pitying glance in my direction. Every time the door swings open, my heart stops. Each time, I'm wondering if it will have the capacity to keep going again, and I know that seeing her face again is all that is keeping me from curling onto the dirty floor and shutting down entirely. Suddenly, my hairs are on end and my skin is tingling. The doors fling open abruptly, almost malevolently, and Cristina storms out, a whirlwind of unconscionable fury. I didn't even realise she was on ER rotation. I get up to find out what she knows, to shake it out of her, but she collapses on the floor next to the vending machine. The stoic, impenetrable mask that is Cristina Yang disintegrates, and tears pour thick and fast, streaming down her face as she buries her hand in her unruly hair and sobs wrack her slender frame. There is only one reason Yang would break down, and I know that she's gone. Calliope tethered me to a life, and without her I feel myself drifting aimlessly, listlessly with the current, and I forget to breathe. I am reminded of my brother's cold, disfigured body laid across the steel slab, grossly defaced, feeling like my own legs were broken and my lungs were on fire. I can't do this again; if I see her, and know she isn't coming back to my arms again, I will cease to exist. My feet are suddenly slapping across the vinyl floor and the cold wind is slapping violently against my bare arms. I realise that I'm barefoot and my feet are dirty and broken. It fits; so am I.

* * *

**CALLIE – one week later**

My limbs are on fire, and my mouth feels like it has been stuffed with cotton wool, after been attacked with steel wool leaving millions of tiny incisions that burn almost as much as my lungs. My eyes don't function properly, and the wash of poorly differentiated images that enter my consciousness are almost enough to make me want to surrender and drift back into meaningless drudgery. At least I can't feel there. But I need to find her. My eyes slowly, painfully adjust, and scan the room, ignoring the merciless pounding that begins beneath my eyelids and radiates backwards with every minute tilt of my bruised head. My eyes focus and find Cristina Yang leaning against the foot of my bed, her eyes bloodshot, hair wild, and a disbelieving expression adorning her face.

"Callie! Oh thank fuck. Oh god. God," she mutters over and over again, and her arms envelop me, harshly at first, then more gently stroking my back as she senses my discomfort. Yang, hugging me? I can't quite piece together where I am, and the events that lead me here, but it must be serious if Yang is hugging me. Cristina doesn't hug. Even Owen. I don't have the strength to ply her off me, and even though my ribs are on fire and I feel as though I'm about to pass out with pain, I don't fight it. Finally, after an eternity she lets go and settles on my bed, remaining within inches of my destroyed body.

My mouth is dry and papery, but I force myself to spit out one word. It's all I can manage, but it's all I need right now.

"Arizona?"


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I hate Telstra! Anyway, here is the next installment. Not sure if i'm happy with this chapter or not, but i didn't want to leave you hanging after the last chapter took awhile! so let me know what you think. As always, thank you for taking the time to read my story, i truly appreciate it **

* * *

**6 MONTHS LATER_  
_**

_26__th__ February_

_Dearest Calliope,_

_It's been 6 months since my world shattered spectacularly into a million pieces. Since that SUV ploughed into you and I forgot how to breathe, and the string that tethered me into existence was snapped in one heartbeat. I realise that for you, the pain was unconscionable, but I need you to understand that I was scarred too. It's frightening, really, how fast you became a part of me, __**essential **__to me. That scared me, it still does. Even before I uttered one word to you, I was watching you. I was intrigued by you. I don't even like that bar, but watching your toned arms expertly measure out drinks, that crooked grin, that intimidating eyebrow arch, that swagger. God, I was lost and I didn't want to pull you off that pedestal, you know? Expectations always exceed reality, which is why I spend so much time with my head in the clouds. It's why I love paediatrics, actually. The tiny humans are so resilient and so unable to accept or even comprehend defeat, and this unshakeable optimism is what pulls them through most of the time when an adult in the same situation would realise the odds and sink a little in weary resignation._

_But I digress._

_Because the magical creature that you are, Calliope; you shot straight off that pedestal and smashed it into a million pieces and turned pedestal-Calliope into a faint, laughable imitation the second I actually manned up and spoke to you. Although that isn't an entirely accurate depiction of the truth, is it? You annihilated my barriers brick by brick, with a patience so contrasting to your adorably hot-headed quest for near constant activity. You pulled down those defences without blinking while I stood idly by and never lifted a finger. You pulled them down until I was gloriously exposed, and still I never moved; I actively denied that magnetic pull until that force, that tension, my ill-fated attempt to defy the physics of our magnetic force, was too much to bear and you started walking away. Please don't think I'm saying I blame you, that's the furthest thing from my mind. Fighting so hard to reverse my polarity when all I needed to do was turn around and snap into your arms and find our equilibrium; I can only imagine how tiring that was for you. Fighting against my natural state of being, against physics, was doomed to have dire consequences. But I was so scared, Calliope. Scared that you had such a heartbreaking power to break me. Ironic really, isn't it? I waited too long and I had one glorious moment of clarity before it was taken away from me. In that hospital, after I left, sitting in the police station being questioned for aggravated assault, I was numb. I had no polarity. I had no pull to anything. I was neutral. But really, that's just a synonym for dead. _

_And I knew that was because you were too. You were gone. _

_Please believe me, Calliope, when I say unequivocally that I thought you were dead. Cristina came out of ER with tears streaming down her face, punching a wall, covered in your glistening blood. I'd felt your heart stop, twice, before the paramedics took you away. I saw your injuries, and no one should be able to survive that kind of nauseating carnage. Remember how I told you about my little brother, who died three years ago? I never mentioned this, but it was a drunk driver. Three years ago I was sitting in that same hospital, covered in his blood, salty tears soaking rivulets in my shirt. Looking at his grotesquely destroyed body. Now, whenever I wake up with a nightmare, that's the vision that flashes nauseatingly before my eyes. And I know it's cowardly, but I couldn't bring myself to see you like that. Destroyed. Funny how often my cowardice has been responsible for destroying my happiness, yet I still can't seem to recognise the ill-fitting vest of self-protection I adorn myself with until it's too late. I didn't want to wake up with pictures of you broken running through my head. I knew that you were dead, and when I was alone and chain-smoking to numb my overworked lungs, I wanted to picture you lying on the grass, healthy and whole, intertwining your fingers with my shaking digits._

_So I left, before I was forced to confront that. _

_I took my anaesthetised body and sat in a motel room, surrounded by dank flickering lights, dripping ceilings, druggies too far gone to care, and chainsmoked until my lungs hurt. It distracted me, gave me something to feel in a detached, disinterested way. It suited my mood. I threw my phone somewhere __**that**__ day, I'm not even quite sure where. My memory plays tricks on me these days. No one could contact me; my family, Teddy, anyone. I wanted it that way, because they would care, and that conflicted with me. You can't care about something that doesn't feel anything, it's unnatural. _

_After a month of barely moving, what could barely pass as living, my body indistinguishable from the inert dilapidated furniture adorning my hellhole of a room, I found an addict convulsing on the stairwell. And for the first time in a month, I felt something. I cleared her airways. I stabilised her breathing. I sutured her lacerations. I felt useful, and I felt alive. Well, I should clarify. I didn't really care for myself, because I thought the part of me that was special, the part of me that you loved, had died with you. I may not be able to be a complete human being again, but damnit I am a good doctor. That I could do, and maybe I can prevent someone else from turning into a shell of a person. _

_So by the time January rolled around and it was back to uni time, time for my selective subjects, I wanted to get as far away as possible. Coward again, I realise. I went to Africa. Zimbabwe, to be specific. I worked in the remotest village I could find, and even though I had no running water, the conditions were horrible, I was practically running a surgical unit by myself despite the fact I'm practically only a fourth year and I was way over my head, but it was the closest I had felt to being alive again. Saving tiny humans, and realising I had that capability. _

_I came back to the US after 5 months, but not back to Seattle. I couldn't handle that. And then, today changed everything. The fireball that is Cristina Yang stormed into my motel room. Don't ask me how, because I was too shocked to ask questions. How the hell she found me, I don't know. But she stormed in, threw a cup of water in my face, and asked what the hell was wrong with me, and how could I possibly ditch you after you get hit by a car, and why I haven't even asked how you were, how the physiotherapy is going. How I could be such a bitch when I act like I'm Charlie the Unicorn on heroin (her words). _

_And then I fainted. _

_My body's own act of cowardice to avoid the situation; the irony isn't lost on me. _

_This letter is already bordering on the ludicrously long-winded, as I tend to be when I'm with you. So I'll cut to the chase. I'm back in Seattle, but I know that I've unintentionally hurt you, and that is the most painful thing I have ever done. But you're ok, and I can finally breathe again. My world is right way up again. And I am going to give you the space you need to stop hating me, but know that I'm not running this time. I'm not running ever again. You're my everything, and I am going to fight my ass off to make you realise that I'm done being scared. So I'll leave you alone for now, because believe me, I know what I did was unconscionable. But whenever you forgive me (call me an eternal optimist, but I'm saying when, not if), I will be here. _

_I never stopped thinking about you, Calliope. _

_I love you._

_Arizona._

* * *

_17th March_

_Dearest Calliope,_

_I saved a child today! I am feeling like such a rockstar. I'm on rotation in surgery, and this kid comes in complaining about abdominal pain, and his parents are arguing back and forth, delegating blame and barely even noticing that their kid's about to pass out. I find a cyst, and because I got the diagnosis I got to scrub in and observe, and even get involved! I'm on such a high right now. It's the greatest feeling, Calliope, knowing that you can help people and actually make a difference. Save lives. Phenomenal. The only thing that would make things better is seeing your face again. But one day, you will forgive my colossal idiocy and I will run my fingers through those beautiful raven locks once more. You always have forgiven me, though I may not deserve it._

_Love,_

_Arizona._

_Ps. Keep up with the exercises! I know they are frustrating, and you want to be able to run a 5 mile track again, but it will happen. You can't push yourself too hard or you'll make it worse. But they do help, and deep down you know it. Patience isn't your greatest virtue, but you will get there. I've packed a stress ball – don't mock it, they help._

_PPS. Don't be mad at Cristina. She tells Teddy about you, who tells me. I know you told her not to tell me anything, but technically she didn't. You're lucky to have her._

_PPPS. Just don't tell her I ever said that. She could so take me._

* * *

_29th March,_

_Calliope,_

_I saw you, lying on the grass today. You looked peaceful, almost. But a bit sad. I hate seeing that look on your face. I had to physically restrain myself from running over to you, stroking my fingers through that wild mane, placing featherlight touches over every inch of your face. It physically hurt, to stay hidden from your sight. But I don't want to push you, and you have every right to not want to see my face right now. You must be starting radiology and medical image interpretation this semester. I've made you some flashcards, because I miss our study sessions, plus this subject is daunting as hell, but you can tackle it._

_I have every faith in you, Calliope._

_Always._

_Love,_

_Arizona._

* * *

**CALLIE – 2 months later**

I wince as Cristina's tone deaf rendition of lil- jon assaults my eardrums.

"To the window; to the wall; til the sweat drips down my balls; to all them bitches crawl –" I throw my physio ball at the stereo and with a loud thunk the music stops and all is blissfully silent aside from Cristina's erratic shallow breathing. She immediately stops dancing and swings around wildly.

"I need a study break, Owen's being all serious with his exam prep, and there's only so many times you can double click the mouse. Lil Jon's the closest I've gotten to sex in a week," she states matter of factly. I simply raise one eyebrow. She sighs and flops down dramatically on the couch next to me.

"Buzzkill."

I stand up quickly, wincing at the sudden pressure in my right leg. I've healed rather well, considering. Walking is ok, but I'll be delaying the marathon for another couple of years. As to my scars.. they're hardcore. They're badass. At least, that's what I project, and I can't tell if I'm trying to convince everyone else, or myself. Either way, I figure if I say it enough, eventually I'll believe it one way or another.

"Where are you going?"Cristina whines, like a petulant 5 year old.

"I'm heading to the movies with Erica," I say, studiously avoiding her eyes as I fumble for my keys.

"Oh, god. I just threw up a little in my mouth. Why are you seeing that girl again? I kinda have an overwhelming urge to punch her face off, and that's very distracting when she's in the apartment," Cristina mutters.

"Yang –" I warn her before she starts.

"Oh, can it. I'll behave when she picks you up. I'll just fantasise about punching her angry face off in my head. Silently. I just-" she pauses, and it's very uncharacteristic of her. She never pauses to filter her thoughts, she's unhuman that way. "I'm a bitch, ok? I know that. But as resident bitch, let me just say – I hate her. I hate her face, I hate her smug superior attitude, I hate her ridiculous swagger, I hate her face. I know I said that already, but I truly do. You deserve better, and I think you're settling because you've been missing McPerky for 8 months, and you don't want to face the fact that she's your.. _soulmate_." She gags a little on that last word. "If you're going to do a distraction, do a nicer one. And the sex can't be that great, because do you know how long it's been since I've eaten chicken piccata? I-"

I slap a hand over her mouth before she can continue. Jesus, I think, that's her censored version?

"I don't miss Arizona, ok?" I say forcefully. "This thing with Erica.. its only been a couple of weeks. But it's good. It's simple, its uncomplicated, and that's what I want right now. McPerky disappeared on me, and she may have had her reasons, but I'm sick of making excuses for her running away from me, especially when I needed her the most. I'm tired of being the strong one, and I'm physically broken. So simple? I'm ok with simple. I don't miss her."

It's the most all encompassing, embarrassingly obvious lie, but to her credit Cristina doesn't call bullshit on it. Against my will, my eyes slide towards the mantle drawer, where every single one of her letters is carefully folded inside an anatomy textbook, the writing almost faded and illegible from tearstains and the sheer volume of times I've pulled it out and traced my finger over the words. She's been writing to me every few days, for 2 months. I quickly look away as my throat begins to constrict.

Yang manages to restrain herself, leaving it at a simple eye roll and starts humming "bitch" under her breath. I sigh and leave the apartment.

* * *

**ARIZONA**

I'm skating through the park, a grin threatening to envelop my face. It's a beautiful sunny day, I aced a presentation, and I'm pretty hardcore at Heeling these days. I'm taking a route through a park I hardly know, on the opposite side of the campus. To avoid Calliope. Not that I don't love seeing her, but I'm determined to be the patient one for once in this relationship. To let her know that she can depend on me. It's hard, but it's what I deserve. This park isn't quite the same as the one I frequented with Calliope, but the trees are a beautiful golden shimmering roof above my head, and the sunlight is fracturing into a thousand pieces in front of me, breaking through the foliage, and I find myself wondering why we never came here. Before I can continue that train of thought, I'm suddenly perpendicular and spectacularly close to the ground, lying atop some unfortunate soul who happened to intersect my path at the most inopportune time. Maybe I lied; perhaps rockstar is a tad too strong an adjective. My Heely skills may leave somewhat to be desired.

"I'm so sorry, I was incredibly distracted, my train of thought is never quite –" I stop short and can't breathe, and it has nothing to do with being winded. It's her. My eyes widen.

"Arizona," she breathes, and for a second she forgets herself and her eyes light up. Its only infinitesimally quick, though, before her face becomes a closed off impenetrable mask.

"Calliope, I'm so sorry," the words come tumbling out of me in an indescribable mess of barely coherent sentences. "I thought you were dead – I truly didn't know, I couldn't cope- my brother, seeing you broken like that, without life, I wasn't strong enough to handle, I-"

She cuts off my rambling quickly, venomously. "Shut _up_, Arizona! I got your letters! Every single pathetic one! I get that you were hurt, but you couldn't hang around two seconds to make sure I wasn't alive? I wasn't worth a second of pain? You didn't think that maybe you were wrong, and I would wake up in a world of hurt and the one person I needed to see to make sure my world wasn't irretrievably off axis, the one person I needed to tell me everything is ok, wasn't there? You're a coward," she spits at me. Tears are pouring down my cheeks, dripping slowly onto her face poised angrily below me. What hurts more isn't so much the fact that Calliope is so broken, it's that every word she's saying is true, and I'm starting to realise that she deserves better than I can ever offer her.

She shoves me off her and pushes herself to the ground, wincing slightly.

She starts storming away, thinks better of it and returns for one last lancing blow to the gut.

"I'm dating someone. Erica Hahn. It's only been a couple of weeks, but she doesn't run away from me when she's scared. She holds my hand during a particularly rough patch of physio. She isn't a coward." With that final departing blow, she takes her leave, and I sink roughly to the ground.

* * *

**CALLIE**

Two hours of Dr Stark's inane sneering voice, and I haven't absorbed a word he's said in this lecture. My mind is still reeling from my run in with Arizona. I tell myself I did the right thing, but her heartbroken face keeps flashing across my eyes and I hate myself just a little bit for being the one to put it there. And part of me, a small stubborn part of me, knows that what she's saying is the unequivocal truth. She truly thought I was dead. And after what she went through with her brother, the trauma she never fully recovered from – while its not the path I would take, I can see how she ended up there.

But I can sure as hell still begrudge her for it.

I slam my books shut with unnecessary force and march towards the elevator, heading to the library. It's packed, and I barely hide my impatience. One by one, the students disembark until I am alone, surrounded by my incensed reflection. I try to avoid it. Just as the doors close, an arm slams between the aperture, and a thin body slides through the narrow gap, apologising rapidly.

The doors close. It's Arizona.

Her hair is a wild mess, tangled and unruly blond curls cascading haphazardly around her tearstained face. Her cheeks are flushed red, and her dimples are gone. She is heartbroken, a beautiful mess, and it ruins me. Being in such close proximity to her, and I can't stand it.

"Callie, I-" her voice trails off, unsure of where to go, and I can't stand it anymore.

I cross the length of the elevator and slam my body against hers, my lips colliding fiercely with hers, my hand slamming the emergency stop button before pinning her against the wall. I can't contain myself; it's been eight aching months and I physically can't stand being apart from her. My brain isn't thinking, but I couldn't stop if I tried. We collide again and again, hips pressing urgently against each other as my lips ferociously attack hers, desperately seeking her taste, her touch. Her hands are everywhere; tracing my sides, my denim clad ass, my back, my hair, with a desperate need. Mine are equally frantic, digging into her shoulderblades, tracing her smooth skin, under her shirt, across her taut abdomen. Her lips attack my neck and I let out a guttural moan. This is nothing like our first and only kiss, full of caution and tenderness; this is primal, and heartwrenchingly desperate. My skin is on fire with her touch, and I can feel the heat and desire radiating off her. I can't get enough of her, and I desperately need her. One hand is tracing up the inside of her thigh whilst the other is lifting her ass, causing her to wrap her legs tightly around my hips. I groan and push even harder into the wall, my hand tracing higher and higher across the silky expanse of her inner thigh. She's panting my name, our bodies intertwined with a thousand points of contact, and I am heady with desire. I feel drunk. I've never felt so utterly out of control but physically unable to stop it. Her lips are a dangerous drug, and I'm higher than I've ever been. We're two magnets, trying desperately to pull away from that force, but its simple physics. We need to be together, and no matter how much we fight,we were always destined to come slamming back together. One hand is buried in my hair, her tongue battling mine for dominance, tracing and biting my swollen lower lip. Her other has somehow unbuttoned my shirt and reached my bra clad breasts, feverishly kneading a rock hard nipple through the silk. My hand is travelling further and further up her thighs, primal moans coming from someone, both of us simultaneously. This is right.

The disembodied voice of an emergency maintenance work comes abruptly through the speakers of the lift, breaking the trance we're in. Her lips are still wrapped around my hips, my hand stilled between Arizona's legs, our bodies pressed tightly, every inch. But we realise where we are. What we're doing.

I slowly set her down, rest my forehead against hers, and close my eyes.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: My first story, and i feel honoured that so many of you have chosen to read it and stick with it even if it isn't all sunshine and rainbows. I truly appreciate you giving the time to read it. Next chapter, hope you enjoy!**

* * *

**CALLIE**

I'm still pressed flush against Arizona in the elevator, but our movements have stilled completely. My hand remains down against her heated thighs, and I feel like a kid who is caught with my hand in a cookie jar. Frozen, hoping desperately that if i cease to move then this won't actually be happening.

My mind is a whirlwind of emotions, and I don't know which way to turn.

On the one hand, there's no denying how _right_ that felt. I've kissed my fair share of people but never before have a felt such a primal, overwhelming _need_ to be with someone; to feel their lips against mine, to explore every inch of them, to be so close we cease to be separate entities but merge into one glorious mess of unadulterated need.

Slowly, infinitesimally, we have drifted apart, inches becoming oceans of space neither of us are sure we should breach. The undeniable pull, that magnitude of force is still ever present, in the sheen of sweat glistening on my overactive skin, the shallow pants and rapid rise and fall of Arizona's chest, the metallic hint of blood coating my swollen lips from when i zealously bit her arched neck, needing to taste her.

To possess her, I realise with a shock. To mark her protectively as _mine_, and mine only. Because the thought of another's lips transversing that skin, makes me seethe with irrational anxiety.

But in the stiffening silence pervading our compartment, I realise I need some fresh air and some space to clear my head. Because although that unstoppable force overpowered me, there's still a part of me, beneath the quivering hormones and raw need, that is afraid that Arizona is going to run again. Our entire relationship, I've been scared. She is the injured animal, hurt and afraid, crouched protectively against the floor, all wide eyes and trembling lips. I've been patient, coaxing, gentle words and non-threatening demeanour, inching closer and closer, wanting to stroke the fears away and nurse her back to health. But every time I moved too close, too fast, she would skitter away, eyes darting ferociously across the expanse, searching for an escape route. Unwilling to trust.

That first study session. The bar. The kiss. The accident. Each time, she has disappeared and each time a part of my heart has torn, and a bit of grisly scar tissue has formed to allow me to keep going. Tiny, infinitesimal scars, but now I'm afraid. Each time, as I get closer to her, and closer to hope, the cut goes that little bit deeper. The scars take longer to heal; they're more pronounced, interlacing lattices across my heart. And I'm afraid that if I keep trying to coax her out, stop fighting this force and just accept it and come together, that eventually my heart will just become a hard, grisly mass of fibrous tissue. And then, I won't be able to feel anything, or love anyone. I don't want to become that person, and I'm afraid that Arizona has the power to do that to me. She's an omnipotent force; she has the power to make me or break me.

And that scares the shit out of me.

Arizona's eyes have been darting across the elevator, studiously studying our reflections as they gradually inched away from each other a thousands times in synchrony.

Her voices pierces the air, shattering the stifling silence like a gunshot, unnaturally loud in the confined space.

"Callie, about this - about us - Erica, do you -" her stuttering is adorable, and without my permission the corners of my mouth start curling upwards. God, I've missed that rambling. Belatedly, her words make a connection and I realise what she's said.

Erica. Shit.

I feel like I've been punched in the gut. Winded. Stupefied. But mainly, an overriding sense of poisonous guilt. I'm not the type of person to cheat. No matter how bad a relationship is, there is no justification for cheating, and I feel nauseous. Caught up in the whirlwind of emotions that came stumbling into my elevator amidst a tangle of golden curls, dimples and ungainly steps, I forgot about Erica. The guilt has settled into an iron ball, weighing down my stomach and permeating my senses, radiating upwards through my abdomen until i can feel tendrils of destructive steel clenching around my windpipe and squeezing mercilessly.

I punch the open door button repeatedly, frustratedly, and the doors take a monumental time to respond and sickeningly slowly drift apart.

"Arizona, shit, I - I'm so sorry. I'm not the type of person to do this. George cheated on me, and being on that end of it, I never thought I would become the type of person capable of that. Never. I have to talk to her."

I run out of the elevator, studiously avoiding her tormented eyes.

"I'm sorry."

My last words hang balefully in the stale air of the elevator, pervasive, filling every inch of the compartment as the doors slide indeterminately slowly shut, trapping Arizona inside, alone with my inadequate words.

* * *

I knock on Erica's door slowly, a sense of foreboding and shame permeating my hand and slowing my motions. She opens the door and grins beautifically, kissing my cheek softly.

"Cal! Wasn't expecting you until later, how are you?" she smiles.

"I have to tell you something," I blurt out in a rush. Oh come on, I chastise myself. So smooth.

Her expression darkens imperceptibly. She doesn't say anything but waits, patiently, for me to continue.

"I ran into Arizona, well she ran into me actually - literally - and I kissed her." I manage to expel, hating the taste of the words on my tongue. It tastes like deceit.

She doesn't say anything for what seems like an eternity.

"I see." she finally murmurs, before walking calming to the kitchen and continuing to wash up.

"Don't you - don't you have anything to say? Want to hit me? Can I try to explain- " I stop, quite unsure of where to go from here, and if a flying plate is about to be levelled at my head.

She turns around slowly, but still looks calm. Only her fiery eyes betray her emotions; otherwise, her face is a cool impenetrable mask of indifference.

"I knew what the two of you had, it was obvious to anyone with half a brain cell. She doodled your damn name in lectures with this idiotic grin on her face about a week after meeting you. What I don't understand, though, is how you could still have feelings for her? After she ditches you after you're hit by a fucking car? For EIGHT MONTHS! How do you forgive someone for that?" she demands, her blue eyes a storm of emotion burning into my soul.

"I haven't forgiven her for that, Erica. It hurt, and I haven't .. I can't move past that. But she did think I was dead, she saw Cristina in tears, and her brother .. she had her reasons for not being able to face that particular vision, ok?" I say loudly, vaguely aware as I'm talking that defending the motives of the woman I kissed to my girlfriend probably isn't the smartest or most logical path for me to follow. But since when am I the queen of logical?

"I don't fucking care what she's been through! The love of your life gets hit by a car, you wait and find out how she is! You nurse her through the pain if she comes through, you break down and die a little inside if it's bad, you pray to any God there is that she makes it through, you intimidate the damn surgeons until you get a straight answer, you pace the waiting room until there's a hole in the floor! You don't fucking run away like a coward! You face it, ok! So I don't understand how you can still see he,r shrouded in a damn halo of purity and innocence, when she is a coward! I held your hand when physio was tough, I helped wash all the incision sites when you couldn't deal with looking at them, I told you you were strong when you were lost and unsure. So tell me, Callie, why is it that you still can't control yourself around her, when she is weak? You deserve better, Cal, ok? You deserve better." She finishes her monologue and during the entire speech, her pitch hasn't changed or wavered. Nor has her glance. The intensity is almost painful.

"I never meant to hurt you, Erica, I truly appreciate what you've done for me. I don't know that I would have got through it without you. With Arizona, what we had .. I'm still unsure as to whether I can forgive her for what she's done. I don't know. All I know is that in that elevator, I had such a rush of emotions, after I felt so strongly for her and what we had, that I forgot about my life, I forgot about what she did to me, I forgot my own name. The feelings took over me, and I'm truly sorry for hurting you. That was never my intention. I still can't comprehend that I've become the type of desolate person I've always despised," I finish in a whisper.

She takes my hand, and sighs.

"Cal, I want to be with you. Even when you and Arizona were doing that little flirty dance with eyes reserved just for eachother, thinking you were in your own world and no one else could see .. even then, I wanted you. You light up a room, and I don't think you even realise your own luminosity. And that attracted me too, the fact that you're so unaware of just how amazing you are. This hurts, believe me it does, but I want to try. It was a shock for you, seeing her after so long, I get that. But I've fought too hard for it to end this way. So I want to try," Erica intones passionately, staring at me so intensely that I almost can't look at her.

"Okay," I whisper, and she smiles and kisses my hand.

"Okay," she smiles, and heads to the kitchen, a bounce in her step.

A feeling of dread entwines itself around my stomach, crushing painfully with razor sharp needles.

Erica is kind, and beautiful, and considerate, and forgiving. More than I deserve, after what I did.

But this isn't what makes me feel guilty. I feel guilty because no matter how good she is to me, I can't replicate the butterflies doing cartwheels in my stomach, or the grin spreading unadulterated across my face, or the burning passion I feel whenever I'm with Arizona.

She's magic, but she isn't Arizona. I feel sick.

* * *

**ARIZONA**

It's three am, and the banging on my door is demanding and relentless. I pick up the monkey lamp and reluctantly inch my way towards my door, Callie's spongebob boxers short and leaving my legs exposed to the cold drought. As I slowly open the door, her beautifully sad eyes take in my boxer-clad legs,and glance with an amused quirk of an eyebrow at the monkey lamp clutched in my grip. We both stare at it, remembering the last time she appeared at my door and I greeted her with the ornament. The best night and worst night of my life. My insides clench painfully.

"You do realise that's not a good weapon against home invasion, right? Perhaps you could look through first and see if the visitor has a balaclava _before _opening the door and brandishing decorative, and I use that term in the loosest way possible, objects at them?" she questions, smiling.

I lower the lamp but don't say anything. Not yet.

She stalks into my apartment, grabs something secretively and places it into her bag, ignoring my attempts to see what on earth she's doing, and walks back into the hallway, ignoring my raised eyebrows.

"Come on," Callie states authoritatively, pulling my door shut behind me and walking determinedly down the hallway.

"Oh, come on Calliope, do you really expect me to accompany you into the night at 3am dressed like this, with no idea what we're doing?"

I'm speaking to an empty hallway. I sigh petulantly out of habit.

Oh, who am I am kidding. She knows it. I run after her.

* * *

"Put them on," Callie states, pulling my Heelys out of the bag and handing them to me with a determined look on her face.

"Calliope, it's 3am, I'm in my pajamas, or yours to be more specific, I may have kidnapped them I'm sorry. Well no, I'm not, they're comfortable and remind me of you when I'm lying in bed. Not that I need reminding of you while lying in bed.. Okay, that sounded dirtier than I intended. Not that I .. think of you like that in bed. Okay, maybe I do but that's natural, I mean look at you. I - okay, what exactly are we doing?" We're at the park where I crashed into her this afternoon, beautifully floodlit and practically deserted. I'm blushing crimson and trying to maintain a semblance of decency as I deteriorate into my inner musings and ramble like an idiot. Callie is trying her hardest not to laugh.

"Well I am hot, I'll grant you that. Just.. put them on, please?" Her voice is softer, more desperate, and without further hesitation I acquiesce and put them on and stand in front of her, bemused.

"Okay, grab my hand. You need lessons. You may love these shoes to death, but you are a health hazard and I don't want any broken legs and damaged innocent bystanders on my conscience. Glide beside me and hold my hand, okay?" Calliope's hopeful grin could illuminate a forest.

I'm not quite sure why Calliope wanted to bring me out here at 3am to learn how to transition gracefully from walking to gliding, but I'm here with her, I'm holding her hand, laughing and I haven't felt this alive in months.

Two hours later, I'm skating like a pro, racing gracefully across the path of my own accord towards a grinning Calliope. An excited squeal rips out of my throat and Calliope is staring at me with such pride, and wonderment, that I'm lost. My momentary lack of concentration sends me careening into her arms and onto the grass, deja vu of our meet-cute this afternoon. My hands are tracing her curves, feeling frantically for an injury, before she lets out a full-bellied laugh and I realise she's fine. My hands still, but the lack of purpose allows me to realise the position we have ended up in. My body is flush against hers, my knee pressed between her legs unwittingly, my hands stilled on her slightly protruding hipbones, our breath intermingling in the space between our parted lips. Her eyes have grown deeper, darker, and her breathing picks up. After an eternity, she reluctantly sits up and i slide off her, sitting on the grass beside her form. I don't want to look at her, but she grasps my hand tentatively, and I squeeze back, feeling the courage to go where I've been too afraid to.

"Why did you bring me out here tonight, Calliope?" I question gently, one hand softly stroking the back of her hand.

"I went to see Erica this afternoon," she says softly. I swallow hard, but don't pull my hand away, willing myself to have the courage to stay connected. I say nothing, but keep my hand firmly grasping hers.

"When I found out George had cheated on me, I was torn apart. In retrospect, I know that I wasn't in love with him, the way that I .. I was hurt because there was this betrayal of trust, you know? Even if there were problems, I thought, why couldn't you possibly talk to me about them first, instead of _this?_ How can you hurt someone so intensely, when at some point you envisioned spending your life with them? I couldn't comprehend it, but then this afternoon .. It was visceral. This pure, unadulterated feeling I couldn't control. I needed you, I needed to _feel_ you, it was just an unstoppable force. I couldn't control it. When I'm with you, that's how it always is; this unstoppable force I have no power over. I couldn't remember Erica, I couldn't remember the first thing about the lecture Dr Stark just gave me, I couldn't remember my own name. You have this unyielding power over me, Arizona, and I don't even think you realise how much you have. You could break me in an instant, and that scares the crap outta me. Even though I understand why you ran away, after that day, that was when I needed you more than anything in the world, and you weren't there. My dad couldn't leave jail, my mother is still having a high-society breakdown and refuses to leave the house, even to see her dying daughter; my sister is so patently selfish she wouldn't fork out the cash requisite to visit without a promise of a chiselled and loaded doctor to prey on, and I was hurt. But I knew I'd be ok because you would be stroking my sweaty hair away from my face and telling me I'm strong, and I'm still beautiful despite the horrific scars, and I could do it. You were what forced me to fight to open my eyes, and then I wake up and you weren't there, and no one knew where the hell you were. My strength, my fight were gone and I had no fucking idea what to do."

She takes a deep shuddering breath and I feel coils of shame tightening around my abdomen, deep and visceral.

I'm so afraid that if I let you in again, something else will scare you, and you'll leave me again, and I'll become this hard, bitter person I don't recognise. I told Erica what happened, and she wants to keep going. To try."

She pauses, and her eyes finally have the courage to meet mine, pale and watery in the glistening moonlight. She's staring at me with an intensity I have never seen before.

"Please know, Arizona, that what I have with Erica .. she's supportive, and kind, and that's what I need what now. What we had, its not .. it can't be replicated, and I'm not trying to. You were it, for me. That isn't going to go away. But I have to try, with Erica, and see what eventuates. No-one can .. know that that will never change." She is staring at me with a ferocious, pained intensity, and I know what she's trying to say. I can only nod.

"For now, I think we have to try to be friends. I can't have you out of my life, I need you.. but I think it has to be in this capacity. But I want to laugh with you, catch you when you fall in those ridiculously impractical shoes, make up sordid backstories about the occupants of the library, marvel at your study techniques, and fall asleep midway through a horror movie while you cover behind the sofa under the pretense of finding a suddenly important lost earring. Is that.. is that ok?" she looks fearful, afraid that I'm going to run for the hills yet again.

I look into her eyes intensely, never letting go of her hand.

"Calliope, first and foremost, I wish I could turn back time. Drag my idiotic self, kicking and screaming, back to your bedside so I could stop jumping to conclusions and see what is right in front of my eyes. But know that you are strong, the strongest person I have ever known. The scars -" My hand lightly traces across her abdomen, where i can feel a slightly raised, rough line transversing the skin, whilst my other sits on her knee, her right leg curled self-protectively out of sight under her body- "are a testament to the strength of character you have in spades. You are the most beautiful person I have ever known, Calliope, inside and out. Nothing could _ever _change that."

I shift so I am sitting next to her, shoulder to shoulder, speaking out into the expanse of the inky night.

"I'm not running anymore, Calliope. Ironically, the reason I ran so much in the first place is because I knew you could break me. I was already so lost in you before I even knew your last name, and each day I was falling in deeper, and I thought I needed an escape route. When really, I was running from the one thing that would make me whole. I will be your friend no matter what, and nothing you can say or do is going to stop that, ever again. But know this - I'm going to keep fighting for you, Erica or no Erica. I'm not leaving the ring til I'm dragged out cold, or I'm victorious and I have you in my arms, where you're supposed to be. You've done all the fighting so far, Calliope, but I'm going to fight hard for you. Is that ok?" I posture decisively. I'm done running.

She snakes an arm around my shoulder, laughing, and I lean into her warm embrace.

"I can deal with that. I wouldn't have it any other way." Callie places a gentle kiss to the side of my temple, lingering slightly, almost imperceptibly longer than appropriate, before settling back and watching the sun start to peer up across the horizon.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: YOU GUYS! I feel awful, I truly do. These past couple of months have been off the chart, utterly insane! In ten zillion different possible ways. I feel awful, because when I'm reading a story, if there's a big delay and I'm left with cliffhangery goodness but no story, I get irrationally angry and want to hit people with bricks. But my life has been fifty shades of ridiculous lately. (Sidenote, has everyone in the world read those fifty shades of whatever books? I got half way through the first one and my brain melted into a puddle on the floor and my IQ dropped ten points and I started using "like" in everyday conversation and I hated myself a little bit. So then I read some books with proper grammar and my cold sweats went away and I became eloquent again and I felt so much better and never went back. But I digress entirely.) And my health, I've been crazy sick for a ridiculously long time and it has SUCKED. But I feel terrible about my delay. If anyone is still reading this story, then UPDATE AHOY!**

* * *

**ARIZONA**

Pure torture.

Shove bamboo shoots underneath my fingernails. Set Jigsaw on me with a maniacal laugh and a jar of hydrochloric acid. Make me wear glittery pants and sing Michael Bolton. Nothing would be more painful than the eviscerating primal pain that wrenches through my chest having to see that bitch flaunting her relationship with Callie in my face.

I am not, by nature, a vindictive person. I love Disney movies. I always root for the underdog. I am still unabashedly mesmerised by fireworks, without fail. Someone annoys me at uni, and ten minutes later I have forgotten all about it and am joking with them behind the cover of my Pacman binder.

But Erica is actively parading her relationship with Callie in my face, and I find myself constantly wanting to find the nearest sharp object and plunge it directly into her overlarge, perpetually shiny forehead.

This past month I have been true to my word. Callie and I have effortlessly fallen back into our rapidfire conversation, our tactile and overwhelmingly demonstrative friendship. Our movie nights. Our disastrous dinner dates (calamitous at least when I'm cooking, and distracted watching her cleavage slide deliciously into view as she takes over the sauce before I simmer it into oblivion, or I neglect the stove whilst she stretches up to grab the glassware, exposing her gorgeously toned calves and placing her firm ass directly, distractingly, in my direct line of vision. I still maintain no-one would be able to maintain a functioning kitchen with that to contend with.) Although we have slipped casually back into what we had, nothing is quite the same. We can't possibly move back into the naïveté that we once blissfully embraced. Every touch lingers a little too long to reasonably pass as platonic. Every glance is loaded with possibility. But the pretence has disappeared, and for that I am infinitely grateful. I wasn't lying when I told Callie I had every intention of fighting for her. Now, I no longer have to retrain the natural progression of my eyes as they trace along her curves, or try to disguise the flush of arousal and the almost imperceptible darkening of my eyes as her hand lightly rubs across my shoulderblades. Now, I stare unabashedly and bite my lip until she lightly hits me and laughs that beautiful resounding laugh.

So I understand why Erica hates me. I would too, and I don't loathe her for that. But she isn't right for Callie, and that kills a part of my soul every time I see it. When they're out to dinner, she orders Callie a glass of Pinot Grigio, even though Callie much prefers a glass of Merlot with her dinner, or a beer if she's had a rough day. On a rare weekend off, Erica took her to an expensive art gallery opening, which was a nice gesture, but Callie would have been more at home sitting at Joe's having cocktails and hitting the karaoke machine. Erica made a distasteful joke about tax evasion, and Callie's face tightened imperceptibly, whilst my hand twitched towards the nearest silver utensil.

But today, I am two seconds away from punching her lights out. It's our midsemester break, and Sloan offered the use of his family beach house for a bit of celebratory drunken debauchery, and twelve shots later, we had set up a makeshift volleyball court in the glorious sunshine. But this is not a good sport for those who are pining away for the unattainable. The sweat glistening across her delicate skin, sliding torturously down across toned forearms. The sexy concentration as she tries to read the play, shaking her raven curls and biting that full lower lip. And don't get me started on the slightly too tight t-shirt stretched across her chest. The spikes .. I've been hit 5 times after Callie's ministrations. It's far too difficult to tear my eyes away. Erica has been standing on the sidelines, coolly sipping a gin and tonic and sending daggers my way.

Two matches later, and Callie and I are on the same team; I thought it would be more conducive to my health if I could only see her out of my peripheral vision. Med students as a collective group are far too competitive; it's fundamental to succeed in such a driven world. But team sports take on a whole new connotation. The scores are tied, the trash talk is escalating, and I have never been so determined to win in my life. As the ball careens over the net, a hard spike by a resolute Avery, I sprint and make a running leap, determined to wipe that smug grin off his face. But suddenly, I don't care anymore. I couldn't tell you the score. Or the sport. Callie had dived towards the ball too, unwilling to see Karev taunt her into the next century, and suddenly she is on top of me, all over me. Her thigh is pressed between mine, and her heaving chest is brushing against mine with each exhalation. A drop of sweat slides inexorably lower down her neck, before plunging the distance and connecting with the corner of my mouth. Without thinking, my tongue darts out and draws the offending droplet into my mouth, and Callie's eyes clench shut and her breathing becomes more erratic.

Before I know it, Erica is none too gently yanking Callie to her feet. She stumbles, and lets out a grunt of pain. I shoot to my feet and gently rub her side, searching her face for indicators of injury or pain. However, I soon find my face colliding once more with the sand, and my skin burns with the contact. Erica's smirking face blocks out the sun, as she mouths "_whoops, sorry Robbins"_ before her expression settles back into concerned girlfriend mode and she strokes up and down Callie's sides. My skin burns for an entirely different reason.

"You ok, babe? Josh did say water therapy was good for loosening up your muscles when overtensed. I say we hit the pool," Erica demands, and with a smirk in my direction, her hands grasp the bottom of Callie's shirt and pull it gently over her head, revealing a scarlet bikini and so much caramel skin, placing a lingering kiss on the corner of her mouth. Callie's eyes uneasily flicker in my direction, but my vision is glued to the scar traversing her abdomen. Red and angry, after nearly a year. Since the accident, I've known about the scars, but I haven't seen them in full sunlight, and my stomach contorts in pain. I'm finding it difficult to breathe.

Callie storms into the house, refusing to glance back and without hesitation, I follow her. As I pass by Erica, I grab a mojito off the table and throw it in her smirking face, not even bothering to give it the pretence of accidental stumbling. _"Whoops, sorry Hahn!" _I smirk, voice laced with saccharine charm.

I walk into the lounge room, past the students doing something unsavoury and potentially illegal to a stuffed animal. Past the line of Cointreau shots snaking treacherously across an unbalanced kitchen table, littered with discarded beer labels. Into the spare bedroom, where Callie is standing motionless in front of the floor length mirror, staring with a broken expression on her face and rivulets of tear tracks traversing her cheeks. Her crimson two piece bikini is magnificently showcasing her curves and contrasting deliciously with her smooth caramel skin, but her eyes aren't seeing that. Her gaze is locked to the S-shaped scar winding furiously across her skin; starting just beneath her left collarbone, coiling across the length of her sternum before extending across her abdomen, an angry red diagonal, tapering off and finally fading just superior to her right hip.

I slowly approach her, and I'm unsure if she even knows I'm there, or if she's too immersed in her own anguish and memories. My hand hesitates, wanting to touch her but unsure if that will help or hinder things. But the need is too great, and my hand is stretching out of its own volition. Even though she's standing in front of me, alive and breathing, I have the perverse overwhelming urge to feel her heartbeat beneath my fingertips, and the heat radiating out from her skin, to assuage myself that she is still alive. I stand behind her, my arm wrapping around her, my hand tentatively resting on her hip. The scar is pulsing angrily beneath my trembling fingertips, raised and rough. Slowly, I drag my hand upwards, light and fleeting. Across her ribcage, and unsteadily up her torso. Callie's eyes are clenched shut, and her breathing is rapid and unsteady. A tear hangs precariously upon her lip, quivering, before finally disentangling and splashing gently upon my wandering hand. She still hasn't said a word, and I have to say something to break the silence pervading the air. "Calliope, you're still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. These scars don't detract from your amazing vitality that lights up a room. I see you walk by, and my breath still catches in my throat and my mind immediately devolves into inappropriate imagining of the multitude of ways I want to push you into the nearest wall and run my hands and mouth over every inch of you. These scars.. they don't define you, Calliope. They just showcase your inner strength and show that you are a survivor," I whisper softly, my hand tracing the raised line beneath her collarbone.

Callie's eyes wrench open, and she spins around furiously, her eyes flashing with a wild uncontrollable fury. I force back my immediate impulse to step back. Tired of running, and determined to keep fighting for once in my life. I force my eyes to remain steadily on her face, my hand lightly resting on her hip. Tentatively, but still there.

"You don't get to keep doing this to me, Arizona! You _can't_! I've tried so hard to forgive you for running out on me so many times, tried to understand how you could freak out and leave me time and time again, but then I try to put myself in your shoes and I cannot envisage how you could possibly stand to _hurt_ me like that! I see your face fall when we go to dinner and the maître de is rude, and I get angry with myself for being even somewhat responsible for seeing that light go out of your eyes! So _every time _I find myself forgetting about the pain I went through, forgetting about the months I spent training myself to manage to articulate the most simple demands or take _two steps_ without falling over, all the while wondering if you were alive or if you even cared .. So we tried being friends, and it was great because it was too difficult to not have you in my life at all. You're my drug, Arizona, and I couldn't quit you cold turkey. I was always going to come crawling back for another hit. But then you look at me with those blue eyes, you flash me that dimpled smile, you run a manicured finger innocently across my thigh whilst you bite that lower lip, and all I want to do is push you onto the couch and kiss you until you forget your own name. And every time my arm starts throbbing, or I have to take a second to think of the adjective I want, it all comes flooding back like a tidal wave. So you don't get to sit here and tell me I'm beautiful, Arizona! These scars are not beautiful, Ari. I know they're not. These scars don't show that I'm a survivor. They just demonstrate how infinitely breakable I am. And I don't want to break apart in your arms anymore," Callie ends with a sob. With that, she grabs a towel to shroud her insecurities and leaves the room, leaving me shivering.

Cold and alone with my empty words.

* * *

**CALLIE**

A determined clicking of heels across the wooden floorboards and Cristina's muttered "Oh, fuck me sideways," is the only warning I get that I am not as alone and my fortress is not as impenetrable as I may have somewhat naively envisioned. A two hour train ride home, accompanied by a stoic Cristina, who merely muttered "what? They're out of tequila anyway. Bastards," by way of explanation. I push myself off the duvet haphazardly adorning my bed, wincing slightly as my weight is transferred onto my shoulders and the familiar twinging pain radiates down from my shoulder, tracing a path down my upper arm and sweeping unceremoniously across my tight forearm muscles, resulting in an unintentional and uncontrollable tightening of my fingers, spasming painfully into the hard mattress. I mutter curses in Spanish under my breath as I work to get my muscles back under my own control. The pain I can deal with, but not being able to have full control of my own faculties, my own _body,_ frustrates me to no end. The better part of a year gone, and I have improved dramatically, but I still feel helpless. Like a trapped bird, smashing again and again against the gilded frame but ultimately tumbling to the floor, wings twitching, watching the outside world continue on disinterestedly, taking their freedom for granted. Complaining about uncomfortable shoes or problems at work, when all you want to do is have the freedom to move of your own volition and keep one foot in front of the other. It's the little things.

With a superhuman effort, I push myself off my bed, swinging my legs to the ground and grunting at the tendril of pain that shoots up my leg vindictively after first contact with the ground. I keep picturing those sad puppy eyes pooling with unshed tears, and an unrelated pain settles in the pit of my stomach. I feel nauseous. But angry. And annoyed that she can make me feel like this. The room is spinning around me, and I have to clutch the desk for support before I tumble head over ass, ungracefully to the unforgiving floor.

"Look, I know I was an ass. But I don't have the energy for round two right now." I spit out angrily as I wrench my bedroom door open and tighten my face into an angry, impenetrable mask. A flurry of red hair marches past and the click of designer six inch heels echo dangerously louder, closer until a pair of excruciatingly manicured hands are shoving me backwards and I am collapsing clumsily back into my former position on the bed.

"Well, an ass, I can certainly attest to that, Torres," tense lips mutter beneath an imperiously arched eyebrow as she storms into the room and hovers above me, a fiery paroxysm hijacking my room. The ceiling light flickers dangerously, nervously, wavering as her presence sucks all the energy from the room. Hesitating, before surging apprehensively back on, casting a commanding glow around her tense frame.

"Addison? What the hell? Do you routinely go around shoving people with severe damage into furniture? And I thought my bedside manner was bad," I snap, my patience already sorely tested for the day. I'm not quite sure what's happening, and my head is sluggish. Running 5 steps behind and struggling to get in sync.

"Oh that's right, you're _damaged,_ Torres. Almost forgot. How is the physio going, huh? What was it, shattered right tibia, severe concussion and lateral skull fracture, dislocated shoulder, collapsed lung, multiple glass lacerations, and severe penetrating abdominal wound perforating the stomach and annihilating your spleen. Did I forget anything?" she hisses venomously. I am at a loss. My scars are throbbing with each word she hurls at me, pulsing in a sick type of remembrance as she hurls them furiously in my direction.

"Addy, I don't-" but she cuts me off before I can wrap my mind around anything remotely adequate to say.

"Oh it's still _Addy,_ is it? Haven't spoken to you in weeks, you never come back to Miami so I haven't seen you in even longer, and when you do bother to talk its superficial and polite. A quiet, hallmark card, politically correct version of Callie. My best friend gets hit by a _fucking car,_ is lying in a hospital bed for weeks, her heart stops three times, but no one thinks it's necessary to tell her fucking _best friend?_ Or have you found better friends down here, someone else who can hold your hair back while you puke, and break you out of thirtieth floor hotel rooms?" she spews the diatribe at me angrily, hatefully, but her eyes are sparkling with unshed tears, and my heart has contracted painfully in my chest, each word a physical blow.

Despite the pain, I push myself upright and yank her down onto the bed with me, where she collapses half on top of my prostrate form and half-heartedly hits me; a shadow of her previous anger, but pulsing away pervasively beneath the surface. I pause, trying to articulate my thoughts and say what I need. What she needs. To assuage her. So she stops hitting me before I have the imprint of her ring permanently embedded in my good shoulder.

"Addy, I'm sorry I didn't tell you. When it happened, when I was finally able to breathe, finally able to move, when I'd stopped freaking out and decided that.. fuck this, I can overcome this, and my some asshole drunk is not going to define who I am and what I am capable of .. I wanted to call you. My parents weren't coming, not even though I'd nearly died, I'm not quite sure they'd manage the funeral if I actually did –" Addison's expression changes from anger to sadness, and her punches have gradually lost their kick until her palm has transitioned into tracing soft circles on my shoulder, warm and soft and comforting. I continue, because I can only get this out once, and I'm realising that leaving this part of me from her for so long has left a tainted necrotising scar over a part of me, and I'm slowly eviscerating that poisonous tendril. My breaths are coming slightly easier, and I allow myself to realise just how much I've missed those six inch pumps kicking my ass.

"When I was lost, and alone, and wondering how I was supposed to make sense of my life, when the fabric of my life was ripped away from me.. I felt weak. For letting my body betray me. For letting myself consider giving up. For letting a person be so omnipotent, and have the ability to shatter me without even trying."

Addison raises a quizzical eyebrow, but decides to save that part for later; to let me get this out, while I still can.

"For never appreciating the intricacies of the human body, no matter how much I've studied them, inside and out. I was so broken, physically and mentally. And when everyone saw me, struggling to take a step; taking five minutes to button up a shirt; crying because I couldn't force my mouth to form the words to express what was going on in my head, the utter hopelessness that accompanies it .. They pitied me. They felt sorry for me. They walked on eggshells. Gone was the person they could pay out, or have a drinking contest with, or complain about their life to.. All I had left was pure unadulterated pity, awkward conversation and darting uncomfortable eyes. I just wanted _one person_ to look at me as the same person I was before, but it was impossible. And the thought of telling you.. I didn't have the strength to do it. If you had come down without a verbal quip about me, without kicking my ass into gear, and looked at me as if I were some injured animal, all empty promises and encouraging words and unshed tears, afraid to complain about your boyfriend because no one can say anything _real_ when all they're thinking is that you're a shell of the person you used to be, and trying so hard to keep that desperate, animalistic self-preservation instinct out of the timbre of their voice.. trying so hard to be pleasant, but desperately trying to bury that basic human instinct no one wants to acknowledge –_ thank god it wasn't me_. I couldn't handle the pity from you, Addison. You were the one person who didn't talk to me differently, and that was my only semblance of normality I had left. I couldn't lose that, or I would have lost me."

I finish and glance distractedly at my hand, fingers absentmindedly tracing the scar over my abdomen; absurdly scared to look at Addison and find that my fears were true. Afraid of the empathy in her eyes.

There is an indeterminately long silence, and Addison's breathing is erratic and muffled. Finally she turns to me, and though there is no further trace of moisture glistening in her green eyes, they are ringed with red and her voice is husky and gravelly, remnant of the tears she has fought down and the lump she is fighting in her throat.

Suddenly she pushes me, hard, and I tumble ungracefully out of bed and onto the floor.

"Well, get your ass into gear then. I haven't forgiven you yet, and I need to drink and complain about the lecturer in Miami that I may have slept with but perhaps without a great deal of forethought, or research into second year teaching staff. Oh, don't raise that eyebrow at me, I'm immune. And you've done far worse things, so take that judgemental head tilt and shove it, we're getting drunk." She glides onto the ground effortlessly and holds out a hand to pull me to my feet. I grin.

"Bartender discount?" I smile, and she lets out a laugh and her shoulders infinitesimally relax.

Cristina appears around the corner, looking annoyed.

"All this emotional crap I had to listen to, I need a drink. I haven't exhausted the bartender discount in weeks, so pay up," she directs at me, before glancing at Addison and nodding coolly.

"Bitch," Cristina greets nonchalantly.

"Slut," Addison counters with a nod.

"Whore."

"Skank."

"Ginger."

"Anal retentive."

"Still sleeping with anything that moves?"

"Still causing people to burst into flame when they come into contact with your bare skin?"

I roll my eyes. "Ok, this pissing contest could go on all night. Let's at least go get drunk so I can find it mildly amusing," I sigh, grabbing my coat from the back of the couch.

"I like it. Ah, I've missed having you to insult, Addison. Callie just turns red and threatens bodily harm. You at least have some creativity," Cristina grunts as we exit our apartment.

"So tell me, Torres, just who is this girl who has your knickers in a knot and your world tumbling down around your ears? I feel a little jealousy play may be in order. She sees this magnificent specimen all over you, and she'll be back in your apartment with her dress on the floor in two seconds," Addison smirks arrogantly.

Cristina immediately moans and pulls a hip flask out of her pocket and drains the contents impressively in one go, her expression stoic and barely a grimace as it burns down her throat.

Addison and I stop and stare, eyebrows raised, in her direction.

"What? I was dry retching hearing you two getting all in touch with your emotions. If I have to hear you talk about your ridiculous milk-and-cookie, the-world-is-ending-and-her-eyes-light-up-the-ocean, I-miss-her-dimples-and-McPerky-tits diatribe all night, I am going to have to kill what little liver I have left," Cristina deadpans.

"Let's go."

As we stride confidently down the street, laughing, I feel my phone vibrate.

_[Arizona: 7:11pm] I'm never going to stop trying, Calliope. We're milk and cookies. And scars or no scars, I still want to ravish you. You will always be the most beautiful thing on my horizon. _

I feel a grin threaten to spill across my face.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: ANOTHER CHAPTER! And only a few days after that last one! (I may still be feeling residually guilty over that delay.) But it is super long, and I have a feeling some of you will like it. Maybe not the quality of writing perhaps, but the events at least :P so I hope you enjoy. As always, thank you so very muchly for reading and reviewing and following and everything else. I get embarrassingly excited every time I get that little email notification noise saying someone has said something. Enough rambling. Hope you all had a superb Christmas!**

**PS. Quote from Friends in there for any Chandler fans out there**

* * *

**CALLIE**

Half a bottle of tequila later, and I find myself laughing uproariously and I can't even remember why. For the first time in months, my heart feels lighter, fuller somehow. And it has everything to do with the two people slumped unceremoniously across the vinyl bench across the table. My laughter dies down but a grin remains as I eye their bickering affectionately.

"_Cardio?_ You want to specialise in _cardio? _You've been on a one week cardiothoracic surgical rotation, it will be seven years before you're allowed to be anything other than retractor bitch and fat flap extraordinaire, and you think your godlike arrogance and ridiculous sense of self importance will propel you into holding a beating heart in those woefully unmanicured hands anytime in the remote future, Yang?" Addison snorts.

"Oh, shove your pretentious moaning, Montgomery. What exactly do you want plan on specialising in, praytell? Something that can accommodate manoeuvring comfortably around in six inch fuck-me heels without necessitating the presence of a solitary brain cell? Anaesthesiology perhaps, so you can sit on your ass in the OR and read _How To Look Like a Slut for Less than $500 _in Cosmopolitan?" Cristina retaliates derisively.

"Oh, because nothing could _possibly_ be as worthwhile and important as triple bypasses on the overweight elderly, could it? For your information, I plan to specialise in OBGYN. Making sure the most important moment in people's lives isn't tainted by tragedy if it is even vaguely in the ballpark of within my power to do it. Tiny new lives, Yang. Saving them," Addison taunted in her direction, inching closer on the bench and smirking arrogantly.

"Oh, Addison," Cristina sighed. "If I didn't want to let go of the tequila bottle for fear Callie will steal the remainder and cut my love affair with Jose Cuervo woefully short, I'd slap that smirk right off your over-made up face. But I can't hold it against you; while you were off doing your professor-"

"Callie! You told her?" Addison interrupts, spinning around to glare at me with a scandalous look etched upon her face.

Cristina snorts triumphantly. "Nope, she did not. Educated guess. But back to my point – whilst you were off fucking whatever moved, I was at skill workshops. Attending conferences on cardiothoracic surgery. Becoming _globally established_ within the student community for my research, and-"

"Well you better work on that bedside manner before a patient punches you in your _globally established_ face," Addison sends back with a glare, swaying even closer as she attempts to recross her legs ungracefully. For a moment, lost in their argument, I forgot how much alcohol they've imbibed in the past hour. For being drunk off their asses, the two are surprisingly eloquent.

"For the record, Montgomery, OBGYN? I wouldn't trust you down my pants with a ten foot pole." Cristina pauses. "Not even _with_ a ten foot pole," she amends, smirking.

"Oh. My. God. Enough with the thinly disguised sexual tension. Just devoid yourselves of your pants and get it on already," I taunt with a smirk, to see two pairs of horrified eyes staring in my direction.

"Callie.. No. Just no, " Cristina finally responds, with a dirty glare at Addison and a long swig from the tequila bottle.

Addison is quick to voice her agreement. "Stop projecting, you dirty perve. Just because you need to get laid, and you're still head over heels in love with – McPerkyTits?" Addison looks to Cristina for confirmation, who nods solemnly. I think I prefer them when they're hurling insults mercilessly at each other.

I feel my intoxication instantly draining away. One mention of Arizona, and I am stone cold sober. But looking into Addison's eyes, I can see that behind the sarcasm, and the teasing, and the intoxication, she cares. She has always been my voice of reason, and I sorely need that now. Lately I have had so many nights of tormented sleep, my eyes are etched with undertones of worryingly permanent shadows. Dreams of Arizona, appearing in my room adorned in a flowing sky blue silk nightie, soft blonde curls framing her face, lit with an ethereal glow from the moonlight piercing through my open window. Climbing onto my bed, onto my prostrate form, torturously slowly. Sliding one hand up the side of my torso, featherlight touches that set my skin alight and pulsing. Leisurely lowering herself onto me, one leg on either side of my thigh, straddling me and letting me feel the evidence of her arousal on my leg, making me even wetter. Running that hand underneath my wifebeater, over my uncontrollably contracting abdominal muscles, and inching higher before stroking the tender underside of my breast. Slowly running her tongue over my collarbone, my sternum, my jawline. Alternating between nipping and sucking when her mouth reaches my arched neck. Fingers and mouth everywhere, every inch of my skin, all at once. Whispering just one word into my ear, over and over, in a breathy, husky murmur that is my undoing. _Calliope_. The way she says my name, sending jolts of electricity flying up my spine, the pulse at the junction of my thighs thundering faster. Desperately. Before her weight is peeling off me, unwelcomingly, and she is dragging my reluctant form across the bedroom with a beatific smile. Down the hallway. Onto the street, where a menacing SUV comes thundering down the street and shatters me into a million pieces. Suddenly Erica is wiping the blood away from my lips, while Arizona glides away down the street. Trying to find the words to scream at her, to scream at Erica that she's blocking my view, twisting desperately but unable to make a sound. Trapped in my own body. Awakening every time, disoriented and panicked.

Waking up every night covered in a thin sheen of sweat, left with nothing but lingering, frustrating arousal, the aftereffects of my insomnia and a mind full of endless questions. Scalding showers every morning before meeting my girlfriend, trying to wash away any evidence of my nocturnal arousal, and hide the overpowering stench of my guilt, reeking out of my pores and permeating the air. I am tired; so very, very tired, on every level.

So I tell her everything.

Two hours and a multitude of drinks later, and I stop talking, exhausted. My voice is hoarse, and I don't think I have ever talked so long in my life. I never knew I was capable of such self-serving soliloquising, but I feel freer. I look at Addison patiently, waiting an interminable length of time before she finally responds, and when she does, I am stunned speechless.

"Well boo-fucking-hoo, Callie," Addison directs, staring levelly into my widened eyes.

"I'm sorry, what?" I reply incredulously, unable to verbalise anything remotely eloquent in my shock.

"What a terrible first world problem, Callie! Two gorgeous women are irrevocably in love with me, how terrible. My wallet is too small for my fifties, and my diamond shoes are too tight! " Addison mocks, smirking.

I open my mouth to retort but nothing comes out. The redhead takes one look at my stunned face, and her expression softens almost imperceptibly as she takes pity on me.

"Look, I get how awful it must have been to have someone leave you, time and time again, until you have no faith left and you're too scared to open yourself up, to.. to _love, _to _anything_ again. It's fucking horrible," she states, and her expression hardens. Something is there, and I have a feeling there is more to her story about the professor than she let on, but now is not the time.

"What she did to you was terrible, and no one is trying to deny that, ok? Even she freely admits it. But Callie, no one is perfect. The way you talk about her.. ever since you first saw her, it sounds like you put her on this untouchable pedestal. She was this perfect, unattainable specimen. But then suddenly, she became attainable. She became tangible; _real._ And over the course of this relationship, you eventually came to realise that she wasn't perfect. She has flaws, just like every single other person on the planet. So she's afraid of commitment, so is every damn guy on the planet! That's not stopping me trying! Now I know that what she did was atrocious. You were hurting, and you were terrified, and you were broken. And suddenly, after finally admitting to each other that you wanted to ravish eachother senseless and make beautiful dimply multicultural babies, she wasn't there in your hour of need. But there's always a reason, Callie. She'd seen her brother lying on a slab after being a hit but a drunk driver, disfigured and fragmented, and I'll bet that's what she sees every time she closes her eyes and remembers her baby brother. I know I'm barely starting my med career, but we've both been in ORs, Cal, and we've seen when things go wrong. You know how heartbreaking that is, and it can destroy you. So she ran away. I'm not excusing it, and it may not be how I would react, and maybe there's something in her past that makes her such a pessimist when it comes to love. Something that made her unwilling to trust, unwilling to accept that something so great to happen to her, so she was cowardly and she ran. But you're being the coward now, Cal. You were afraid that I wouldn't treat you the same and would act like you were broken, so you didn't tell me you nearly _died_. And now you're afraid that if you let her in and let yourself be happy for once, she's gonna leave you again and you won't be able to cope with it; so now you're the one running away, and settling for someone who is nice, maybe, but there's no _fire_. You can't have the fire if you're too afraid of getting burnt, Cal. So get your head out of your ass," she finishes, rubbing my knee gently, if a little unsteadily.

I smile at her, grateful beyond words, and a little shocked at the perspective. Wondering how exactly I've managed to go eight months with little more than superficial conversation with Addy, without falling completely, obliviously apart.

Cristina moans, the prolonged sentimentality far too much for her. "Now that this fucking tedious love fest is over, can we please mainline something and go dance our asses off? Before you go back and profess your love for McPerky, the magic fucking Unicorn of Candy Mountain, and you start doing it like rabbits over the couch and I throw up your sex-bliss-induced chicken piccata?"

"That was.. far too detailed for my liking, Yang," I murmur, slightly disturbed, and still lost in my own thoughts.

"Well, I've had three nausea inducing hours to think about it. So get off that ass and get us another bottle of my man Jose, Montgomery, before I have to find some other way to shut you up," Cristina demands imperiously.

Addison stands and heads over to the bar, making sure to shake her ass in Cristina's disgusted face as she slides out of the booth. "Oh, you just want to check out my toned ass discreetly. Yang. It's ok, you won't be the first," she teases, an arrogant grin arresting her face.

I collapse against my seat, rocking in silent laughter.

* * *

**ARIZONA**

I am awakened by the sound of rocks hitting my window, and am instantly standing with my back against the far wall, wrapped in my doona and clutching my stuffed giraffe protectively to my chest. But the rocks continue to rap persistently against my window, so I inch over, grabbing a lamp from my desktop and clutching it hesitatingly in the air as I peer down. Standing on the grass below me is Callie, an arresting redhead and a giggling Yang. I almost do a double take at the sight of the perpetually angry Yang emitting such a girly sound, but my gaze unquestionably, irrevocably returns to alight upon Callie. Leather jacket slung haphazardly over her shoulder, tight black jeans proudly displaying every delicious curve of her toned lower body, a low cut emerald green singlet showcasing far more of her cleavage to me at my higher vantage point than should be acceptable in public. Suddenly, irrationally, I am jealous that they have been out in public and others have been privy to this vision. But reality returns, and I realise I have no right to be jealous. But that doesn't stop my hand itching for a brick.

Callie smiles up at me hesitatingly, looking like a kid caught with their hand stuck in the cookie jar and crumbs guiltily adorning their face. She shrugs helplessly, dragging one foot to and fro across the grass awkwardly, and my heart skips a beat.

Adorable.

"I'm sorry, Arizona, I tried to stop her, but Addison can be rather headstrong, and her heels are deadly," she murmurs apologetically.

I glance at the redhead in the six inch heels I assume must be Addison, and she is gazing at me commandingly.

"I just had to see what all the fuss was about, McPerkyTits," she says gleefully, before spinning round to face Callie and patting her on the back.

I see three pair of eyes drop to my chest, and I am acutely aware of the thin and almost transparent fabric adorning my body. I drape the doona closer around myself protectively, feeling off-balance.

"I maintain my earlier advice, Callie," Addison states cryptically, glancing up at me once more.

I'm curious, but when I turn towards Callie to ask, my mouth quirks up in a smile at the sight. She is staring at me, _through me, _with such an intense look in her eyes that I almost forget to breathe. She is bathed in moonlight, and I want to run down the stairs and throw my arms around her, and spin around in circles like a clichéd movie. I want to drink her all in, and I could spend eternity just staring at her, and I would be happy. I don't want to interrupt the moment with talk, and Callie seems content to simply stare up at me unabashedly. It's a comfortable silence.

After an eternity, Cristina breaks the spell.

"Eye fucking! Enough with the damn eye fucking! Urgh, my stomach isn't equipped for this tonight, my liver is rebelling," Cristina groans, turning towards a bush as Addison pats her back rather unsympathetically.

Before I can figure out what is happening, a blonde hurricane is storming onto the campus lawn, a blaze of fury and crackling with electricity. Her eyes dart up towards me, and I correct myself. Hate. Crackling with hate, and I take an involuntary step away from my open window.

"Callie, where the hell have you been? I've been ringing your phone all night, and you don't answer, but you stumble up reeking like a brewery and who do you go to first? Your loving girlfriend? No, you come to serenade the lovely coward Miss Robbins," she says with a sneer, glancing up at the window with disgust so palpable I shiver.

"Look, Erica, my phone died this afternoon, ok? My friend showed up unexpectedly from Miami, I haven't seen her in months, and we went out for a few drinks to catch up. And on the way home, we just stopped by here, to .. you know.. say hello to Arizona," Callie peters off halfheartedly, looking at her feet, at Addison, at anything that isn't me.

"Oh, right," Erica sneers, her face twisted in a tight mask of barely maintained control. "I haven't seen you all day, but of course you had to come here first. It's understandable, having to check to make sure she's still here and hasn't run away with her tail between her legs yet," Erica states viciously.

"Look, I don't think this is the time or place-" Addison interrupts smoothly, but Erica pushes her away with slightly too much force, causing her to stumble awkwardly.

Cristina stands up angrily and storms over to join the melee, fists clenched and eyes narrowed.

"Hey! No one gets to abuse Montgomery. Except for me," she adds, almost as an afterthought. "And don't think I'm going to let you talk to Callie like this either. I-" Cristina's face turns a nasty shade of yellow, and before anyone can react, she leans over and throws up her stomach's contents onto Hahn's shoes before straightening up, crossing her arms defensively.

We can't help it. Addison, Callie and I simultaneously start laughing, the spectacle too absurd to warrant anything else.

Hahn has tears leaking out of the corner of her eyes, and for a moment I feel desperately sad for her. I know how easy it is to fall in love with Calliope Torres, and I know how helpless you can feel in that all-encompassing power. In another lifetime, we might have gotten along. But then she grabs Callie by the shoulder and starts pulling her none too gently down the path, away from the laughter mocking her. Away from me. Callie's face is twisted in pain, her hand clutching her damaged shoulder, but Hahn is too blinded by her tears to notice.

Before I am aware, I am bristling down the stairs, past Addison and a queasy looking Cristina, flying down the path after them. Unaware of the cold nipping at my exposed arms. Unaware of the rocks stabbing repetitively into my bare feet along the dirty uneven ground. Only aware of her.

I grab Erica's offending hand and shove it roughly away from Callie, turning to wipe a tear from her tightly clenched face and hesitantly grasping her shoulder, feeling it's heat radiating into my palm.

"Cal, how bad is it?" I murmur worriedly before a shove sends me sprawling face first into the unforgiving dirt. As I slowly push myself into a standing position, I hear Hahn shrieking with fury, her voice carrying in the still of the night.

"NO! You don't get to fucking care now, Arizona! Where were you during physiotherapy? Where were you when she was trying to remember how to speak a complete coherent sentence? Where the fuck were you when she was crying into the mirror every night when she saw her scars, huh? Where the fuck were you then? You don't get to care now! You had your chance, and you messed up! It's my turn now, and you _don't_ get to fuck that up, you selfish bitch!" she screams, her voice hoarse with the weight of unshed tears. A blind fury has got a hold of me and I push myself to my feet, shoving Erica so hard she stumbles into the nearby foliage.

"I never stopped caring, not for one second! I ran away because she was dead! I couldn't handle seeing her lying on that cold slab, bloodied and broken. I didn't want to remember that Callie every time I closed my eyes! I wanted to see that voracious blinding smile, that raven curly hair bouncing in the sun, those long fingers pointing up to the sky, when I closed my eyes and cried myself to sleep. I went off and smoked until my lungs were tar, drank until my liver could have fermented itself, and sat in a cockroach infested hotel room for a month. I didn't care about myself, but I sure as fuck never stopped caring about Callie for one single second, so do not dare insinuate otherwise! I know how hard it is to fall for someone when someone else won't stop fighting for them, but I can't. She's my world, Erica, and I'm going to keep fighting for her because I'm tired of running, and I'm tired of being unhappy. So I'm sorry, but I'm never going to stop," I state, my chest heaving with exertion.

Erica's eyes have stopped glittering with tears and instead have narrowed into slits, furious and black and deadly. Without warning, she spins around to face Callie, who is staring at me with a look on her face I can't discern.

"Well what about you? Why the hell can't you look at me the way you look at her?" she begs, looking broken and disavowed. Callie opens her mouth, but Erica continues on wildly, unable to stop. "I've done everything for you! I helped you when you were broken, I am ALWAYS there when you call, I've gone slow, trying to show you I'm not as scary as people make me out to be, I've done everything perfectly by the book and I've been patient, but I still can't _win_ you!" She yells, before shutting her mouth abruptly, realising the error of her words as soon as they leave her lips. Three sets of lips open but Callie spins around and silences us all with a glare. "Let me fight my own battle, please," she whispers to me. I can only nod.

"You consider me a prize? Something you should win, a shiny trophy for your tiresome persistence?" Callie states slowly, her words scarily flat and without inflection. Even so, they are dripping with venom. Erica flinches.

"That's not what I meant, babe," Erica tries weakly, but Callie silences her with a scathing look.

"This really has become a competition to you. Tactics, strategies to beat her into winning me," Callie exhales, almost in wonder.

Erica is panicking, clawing wildly, trying to backtrack and realising just how deeply she has dug her own hole. "Callie, I've liked you long before I even knew there was anything between you two to interrupt. I'd see you in the bar, or in a hallway, and I'd find myself trying to come up with ways to bring that out in you. I know I'm competitive, but that doesn't change the fact that I love you," Erica finishes in a whisper, brokenly.

Callie's expression become more tender, and she steps forward. My heartbeat quickens and I want to turn and hide, but I resist the panicked urge. "Erica, I'm not saying you don't. I know you tried, and you deserve to be with someone who recognises that. Someone who can reciprocate that. Someone who isn't.. broken," she says, waving a hand up and down her body, indicating her physical problems. But her gaze strays, unconsciously, towards my face. It only lasts a split second, but Erica notices.

The silence stretches, and I feel uncomfortable, like an intruder. Without warning, Erica strides away from Callie, back towards her dorm. As she passes me, she pauses, before cocking her arm and slamming it into my face. The pain shoots into my eyes, like a wrecking ball has collided and shattered my cheek into a million jagged, white-hot pieces. Callie, Addison and Cristina come rushing towards me, but I wave them away, not wanting them to retaliate at Hahn. She stares at me a second longer, narrowing glistening eyes. "You may win, but now you hurt too," she whispers brokenly, before turning and fading rapidly into the darkness.

* * *

We're sitting on my bed, and Callie's hand is softly tracing the raised plane of my left cheek, already angrily red and swollen.

"Are you sure we shouldn't ice that? It will be even more swollen in the morning," Callie murmurs, but I softly dissuade her of the notion, wanting to stay here in the moment with her fingers tracing my injury for as long as I possibly can. And absurdly, I kind of want to keep the bruise there, at least for the time being. A badge of honour, if only to myself, proving that I finally fought for my girl.

"Do you want to stay the night?" I blurt out suddenly, needing her to stay near me. Panicked at the thought of a night without her presence, blurring the lines between fiction and reality and leaving me wondering if tonight was all a dream.

Her face darkens imperceptibly, and she shifts her weight uncomfortably on the bed. "Arizona, I don't want to jump straight into anything. My emotions are a thunderstorm in my head, and I just need the waters to settle before I launch myself into anything. Not saying that half my mind isn't imagining pushing you onto the bed and ripping that flimsy shirt off you and losing myself in every inch of you," she says cheekily, her eyes wandering up and down my body, hesitating on the exposed skin of my legs before returning to meet my gaze, chocolate eyes noticeably darker as I swallow hard. "But I'm not ready," she finishes softly, eyes burning with a fiery intensity that counterpoints her soft timbre.

My cheeks flush red as I realise how my previous statement must have sounded. "I didn't mean – I realise that sounds like I was propositioning you, my god – I'm not that insensitive, that thought didn't even cross my mind – well it always crosses my mind, half my brain is always ravishing you against a wall, but I can't help that, I mean look at you and that shirt! But I don't-" she silences me with an unexpected soft kiss on the cheek, lightly brushing the corner of my mouth.

"God, I missed this," she sighs, cheekily poking my flaming cheeks. "Adorkable."

With that, she settles herself against my side, and I'm a little amazed once again at how perfectly we fit together.

Callie interrupts the silence permeating the air. "It's true you know," she sighs as my hand strokes tenderly up and down her back.

"What is?" I whisper, afraid to break the mood.

"You have broken me," she says, both knowing she is referring to that loaded, split second glance as she spoke to Erica. My hand stills between her shoulderblades, and I am deathly afraid. Callie senses my hesitation and turns towards me, face inches from mine, eyes smoldering.

"You've ruined me for anyone else. No matter what you do to me, I'm never going to be able to accept anyone else's hands on my skin, anyone else's lips on mine. You've broken me, and you're the only one who can put all the pieces together and hold them in place. You've ruined me, Arizona. I'm irrevocably yours it seems, in one way or another," Callie murmurs, almost shyly. My heart is thundering rapidly in my chest, and I cannot stop the grin spreading across my face.

"I like the sound of that," I whisper unsteadily.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Hello lovely readers! First off, I have instructions for you! (Very demanding, aren't I). If you don't know the song Beggin by Madcon, then I recommend you listen to it first. Because a certain scene plays out to it and I feel it is a lot better if you kindof know what was running through my head and how I saw it happening. Secondly, thanks for reading, as always! **

**Shoutouts to Mfeo and .d who have been reading and reviewing since the beginning, you guys rock my socks off! Really, shoutouts to everyone that has been reading and reviewing. I love that you guys read it, and tell me what you think. **

**Finally, this chap is kindof a monster. It took on a life of it's own, and I considered splitting it but then I'm a sucker for massive chapters cos I read too fast. But, if you guys would prefer shorter chapters, then read half and come back another day and read the other half and pretend its two, and let me know so I stop being pesky and don't do it again, yeah? ENJOY**

* * *

**CALLIE – two weeks later**

7pm, a rare sunny evening in the generally miserable province I now call home, and my mood is lighter than my wallet. Which for a med student from a financially fragmented family, is saying a lot. Ever since that momentous, disastrous, all-encompassing whirlwind of a night. The night where I finally stopped fighting my attraction to the gorgeous creature of the omnipotent dimples and the cerulean eyes. The night I watched my then-girlfriend's face twist into an orchestra of pain, clenched cheeks and glistening eyes, and realised with a shock that the scar tissue etched across my heart was now sinisterly replicating in the woman in front of me; the woman who had traced gentle patterns across my hand to distract me during particularly rough sessions of physio, and brushed my tears away as disarticulation reared its ugly head and frustration took over. The woman whose only misstep had been falling in love with someone whose heart would only ever race for someone else.

But in a twist of glorious juxtaposition, the night wasn't all doom and gloom. It was the night Addison lovingly kicked my ass into realising no one is perfect. The night that made me realise that all the energy I expended into attempting to hate Arizona was a pathetic attempt to tear myself, kicking and screaming, away from someone who, flaws and all, always had the power to annihilate me with the blink of an eye, or the utterance of a single word. And this scared the living hell out of me. But if you live your life with towering impenetrable walls surrounding your heart, it may stay safe, but it stays disconnected. It stays isolated.

Sitting in my room, a black-eyed Arizona stroking my spine almost reverently, and I realised that it was time to let go. It was time to realise that she may have panicked, but I was no more innocent in that regard. There will always be a chance that she will hurt me, but I have to give us a chance to _be._ For all the lingering glances, subtle touching and unsaid sentiments that have hung precariously between us over the entire course of our acquaintance, nothing has been ordinary. There is no semblance in normality in our entire relationship, and it is high time we have the opportunity to just be _us._

But my guilt over the messy obliteration of my relationship with Erica is urging me to take it slow. Allow us to be friends, without any barriers in our way for the first time, before opening ourselves up completely and wandering down the path that was set in front of it the moment she literally crashed into my life. So these two weeks have been gloriously uncomplicated. Dinners, movies, lying in the park, fingers ghosting over eachother. Laughter. Gentle, not so innocent touches, and lingering kisses to the cheek that are no longer accompanied by an overriding sense of guilt. And the grin that is permanently etched across my face is causing Cristina's eyerolling to reach epic proportions.

Tonight, Arizona is meeting me after her shift at the local hospital, and I'm cooking up a storm of balsamic glazed pumpkin risotto. My mouth is watering as the aromas waft enticingly through the apartment. Oh, I'm good.

With dinner ready and keeping warm on the stove, I head to my bedroom to decide on my date outfit. Non-date outfit, I chide myself. But no need to not look sexy, I think with a grin. As I strip down to my boyleg underwear and a silky black bra and slip out of my herb-splattered gear, Madcon's _Beggin'_ comes blaring out of my stereo and I feel my hips start to move of their own accord. Soon I am lost in the music, body arching and hands gliding through the air as I swing energetically around, my singing traversing the room and filling the otherwise empty apartment.

_"Riding high, when I was king,  
Played it hard and fast, cos I had everything  
Walked away, wonderin' then,  
But easy come and easy go and it would end-_

"Arizona!" mid-spin, hair flying and voice faltering, I notice I'm not quite as alone as I envisioned.

* * *

**ARIZONA**

I'm trying hard to contain the laughter that is itching to erupt shamelessly from my chest. I finished my rotation at the hospital early, as I'm in Ortho this block and only had one hip replacement to observe today, so I thought I'd surprise Callie even though I'm not due for another hour. I tell myself it's because I have an early start tomorrow and don't want a late night. But deep down I know it's just that I miss her. Permanently, from the second I leave her presence. Even though most nights I stay the night in her apartment, it's never enough time before one of us is walking out the door again. But as I let myself in, allowing a moment to appreciate the delectable smell wafting through from the stove, I hear music and Callie's melodic voice drifting through the air from her half-opened bedroom door. Smirking, I approach the entrance and the sight that greets me leaves me breathless and flustered. Callie is shaking her ass with abandon, clad only in her underwear. Her toned abdomen is glistening with exertion, and her shapely thighs are undulating up and down in a rhythm that should be illegal. But as she twirls around and bursts out the words, I'm torn between arousal and the overwhelming need to laugh. Suddenly she spins and stumbles ungracefully, eyes going wide at the sight of my raised eyebrows in the doorway.

As she exclaims my name in surprise, looking adorably flustered, I step inside and decide to meet her half way. Without missing a beat, I step closer to her, put on a deep voice and bust out my best crumping skills.

_"So, ah, anytime I need ya, let me go  
Anytime I feed ya, get me low  
Anytime I see ya, let me know  
But I planted that seed, just let me go"_

Callie looked shocked for approximately a millisecond before laughing that gloriously all-encompassing belly laugh that causes my insides to twist pleasurably, and steps closer, grinding up and down and nodding appreciatively as I rap my way through the verse before raising my hands in an unspoken challenge.

Callie grinds languidly down to the floor.  
"_I'm on my knees when I'm-"_

_"Begging,"_ I whisper as I pull her to her feet.

She grabs my hips and pulls me aggressively closer.  
_"Cos I don't want to lose-"_

_"You"_ I sing unsteadily as I wrap my arms around her neck.

_"I got my arms so spread  
And I hope that my heart gets fed  
Matter of fact, gonna beg"_

Our hips have been grinding together as she sings, her eyes never leaving mine before dropping to her knees to belt out the verse, as my own go weak and I stagger unsteadily backwards.

_"Beggin', beggin' you,  
Put your loving hand out baby"_

Callie smirks, sliding forward on her knees and grabbing my left hand in her own, using it to propel her even closer. Her eyes are smouldering.

_Beggin, beggin' you,  
Put your loving hand out darlin'"_

She arches up on her knees, grasping my other hand and with a mischievous smirk, tugs suddenly. My legs, already weak and unsteady from the sheer sexiness of the charged rendition, give out and I tumble on top of Callie, limbs tangling together and her laughter reverberating against my chest.

Lying on top of a half-naked Callie, her knee pressing against my centre through the thin fabric of my dress, and my resolve is crumbling. This going slow thing is killing me. It's been a year of foreplay! Now that we are both here, free and unencumbered, I want to strip her down and bury myself in her immediately. But I don't want to push her, so I'm waiting for her to make the first move, but my god, is it killing me slowly. I realise my eyes have settled on the rapid rise and fall of her gloriously exposed silk-clad cleavage that has been thrust directly into my vision for quite some time now, and embarrassedly snap my eyes upwards to settle on the more respectable location of her face. But Callie is having as much trouble sticking to the rules as I am, and her eyes are unabashedly tracing over every inch of my body. Even though I am in a far more clothed state than the woman lying beneath me, I feel exposed under her unyielding stare. When her eyes eventually reach mine, after taking a thorough inventory of me, her eyes are burning with desire. My pulse quickens and my eyes drop towards her lips as her tongue darts out to wet them, torturously slowly. The song has long since died out so our erratic breathing is permeating the air, but the shrill piercing of Callie's phone breaks the silence and with its intrusion comes the return of my resolve. Regretfully, I clamber to my feet and extend a hand to Callie, who reaches out with an adorably petulant look upon her face.

"This better be damn important," Callie growls into the speaker.

Suddenly, her face falls and her expression becomes concerned; scared, as she clutches the device to her ear silently. After an eternity of silence aside from the indistinguishable tinny voice echoing from her phone, Callie murmurs a quiet word of acquiescence, before placing the phone on the counter and lowering herself slowly to the ground.

Without hesitation, I slide myself to the floor next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and stroking it gently. I wait, concerned but knowing Callie will tell me when she's ready.

"That was my dad," she finally admits, in a quiet voice far removed from her usual commanding timbre.

"What did he want?" I enquire softly when she seems lost in thought.

"I'm not quite sure. He's still in prison, but he demanded to see me, said there are plane tickets in my name at the airport already booked, flying out in two hours," Callie mutters, looking confused. Suddenly she turns to me, and I am struck by how desolate she looks. Tears are glistening in her eyes, and I pull her closer to me.

"He didn't even call when I was in the hospital and they didn't know if I would survive the night. None of my family did, and I haven't even spoken to them since," she admits desolately. I feel a tightness clench in my abdomen, low and visceral, as I remember my worst night, and hot tendrils of shame wrap around my insides as I'm reminded of just how alone she was. I stroke her slowly, knowing no words are going to help her right now.

"Come with me," Callie turns her tear streaked face towards me, and looks so broken it takes a second to comprehend the statement.

"Come with you to see your family? In Miami? Tonight?" I question, realising I sound rather like Ron Burgundy but trying to understand what is going on. The blood is still returning from the lower region of my body and it's taking longer for me to comprehend anything.

"Yes," is the only word Callie utters in response, but I can see that she needs me. As much as the thought of her selfish prick of a father scares the hell out of me, I can only answer one way.

"Give me ten minutes to run home and pack a bag. Anything you need, Calliope. Always."

* * *

**CALLIE**

Many hours later, after a flight during which my leg bounced so much the flight attendant was concerned I was having a seizure, and I am in Miami. I am staring up at the imposing walls of the Miami Correctional Facility. We have been here, staring at the entrance for over an hour, unmoving. But Arizona's calming presence made my bundle of nerves a lot easier to manage, and for that I am infinitely grateful. Still, I cannot bring myself to will my feet to move and step across the threshold. Too afraid of what I will find when I enter. Afraid that my horrific visions of what awaits me will turn out to be all too eerily accurate. Afraid that the tiny part of me that still respects my father, that still holds on to a shred of hope that there is some crazy explanation for their silence and we'll erupt into tearful declarations of Hallmark-worthy cheesy emotion, will be ripped away from me once and for all.

Gently, Arizona places a hand underneath my chin and turns me to face her, her expression beatific in the fading sunlight. "Calliope, he'll either apologise and give you a reason, or he won't. And then you'll know," she murmurs gently.

I nod silently, and turn once more to face the metal gates. With a deep breath and a hand wrapped tightly around the blonde's, I step onto the path and press the intercom button.

* * *

I'm sitting at a cafeteria table across from my father. He looks thinner, almost emaciated, and there is a thin scar coiling across his neck and disappearing underneath the fluorescent orange jumpsuit he is sporting. Yet another reminder that he barely resembles the man I once idolised with all my soul. It's been 5 minutes, and we only have thirty before visiting hours are over, but we are yet to utter a single word. I stare at him impassively, raising my eyebrows in an unspoken challenge. He dragged me out here after nearly a year of silence, without rhyme or reason. So fuck this. He wants to talk, he can talk.

Eventually, growing tired of my insistent gaze and stony silence, he rolls his eyes and opens his mouth.

"So, Calliope, finally decided to grace me with your presence? After a year in jail?" he sneers, crossing his arms across his chest. I feel my hackles rise and lean forward aggressively.

"Oh I'm sorry, _dad,_ but when you committed tax fraud and got my college fund annihilated, I could no longer afford flights nor the time from working long hours at the bar to manage tuition at medical school!" I hiss back angrily.

"Oh, so because I made one little mistake that means I'm no longer worthy of your attention, is that right?" he murmurs, leaning back in his chair.

"No dad, that doesn't. That I can forgive. People make mistakes, and I've never cared about the money, ok? You know that. But I called you, every week, until you stopped accepting my calls. I was worried about you, so I started calling mum, and Aria. And suddenly they weren't exactly in a talkative mood either. So do not dare insinuate that I started this, but I ran out of time and energy trying to figure out why," I growl, leaning forward until Arizona places a calming hand on my shoulder and I settle backwards on my chair, her hand remaining soothingly in place. This does not go unnoticed by the man across the table, whose eyes flicker down to the offending hand as his lips tighten into a thin line.

"Yes, Calliope, I could not talk to you anymore once I realised what an abominable mess you had let your life degrade into. And I couldn't allow your mother or your sister to fall victim in your sin either. But that does not make me the guilty party here," Carlos hurls his words across the table. Each word like a blade, spanning the air and stabbing into my chest, causing a burning in my lungs. I struggle to breathe.

"What part of my life as a medical student makes you uncomfortable, _padre?"_ I hiss the word venomously, like a curse, across the expanse.

"Oh, we were all so proud to have a doctor in the family, Callie, you know that. I love your sister, but Aria is never going to do anything remotely worthwhile with her life," he states, and as much as she irritates me, I feel a pang of sorrow for Aria. How can you amount to something if your own parents don't expect anything at all?

"But that isn't what has corrupted you, Calliope. _She_ has," he continues, turning his angry brown orbs onto the startled blonde next to me.

"I'm sorry, what?" is all I can manage to expel at the sudden turn of events. My brain is lagging five steps behind, trying to catch up but inherently struggling.

"Oh, don't give me that ignorant wounded puppy look, Callie! When you were dating that girl, Ann, you were young. I thought it was a phase, an experimentation, and then you went on with that lovely boy George and I was placated. But then you fucked that up, as you do most things, and suddenly you're cavorting around in MY beachhouse with that woman. Aria stopped by and saw two sets of women's clothing. She saw two sets of feet underneath the shower curtain. She remembered the fact that you couldn't stop talking, on and on and on, about your new tutor. Alabama or something equally ridiculous. She may not be the brightest crayon in the pencilcase, but she's not an idiot. And I knew you'd fallen back into sin again," he hissed, his shoulder muscles tense and coiled, looking like an agitated caged animal trying to strike.

I am lost. I decide to try, one more time, to get my father back. To give him one last chance to redeem himself, and be a father. One more time. My shred of home now a solitary strand, swaying precariously in the wake of my father's tirade.

"George went off and cheated on me with the girl from the bookstore, so I hardly think you can blame that one on me. Dad, I'm still the same person I always have been. I'm still –" before I can continue, he cuts me off.

"Leviticus: Thou shalt not lie with a man as one lies with a female, it is an abomination," he recites, eyes glinting steel.

"Oh don't _do_ that, daddy, don't quote the Bible at me!" I yell, and my voice wavers. But he doesn't relent.

"The outcry of Sodom and Gomorrah is great, and the sin is exceedingly grave. Romans, but we know that the laws-" his voice is raising steadily, louder and louder, until it echoes amongst the cafeteria and the couple of other visitors are turning towards our table in interest. But I raise my voice even higher, becoming stronger and confident as I strike right back.

"Jesus, a new commandment that I give unto you, that you love one another. Jesus, he who is without sin among you, let him cast the first stone. Blessed are the merciful for they shall obtain mercy! Jesus, blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see God! Jesus is my saviour daddy, not you! And Jesus would be ashamed of you for judging me; he would be ashamed of you for turning your back on me. He would be ashamed," I finish, tears threatening to spill out of my eyes as I realise I truly have lost my padre for good.

"Calliope Iphegenia Torres, I will not be talked to like that! I have been in this hellhole, being attacked solely because of my status, and for what I have done for this family-" he begins threateningly, pulling down the collar of his jumpsuit to reveal the extent of his small scar, but I'm done. I'm done trying to appease this man, and I am done trying.

"Oh wow, dad, now we match!" I spit sarcastically, pulling up my t-shirt and revealing my angry S-shaped scar winding across my front. His eyes widen slightly, but he says nothing.

"You weren't there for me when I nearly _died_, Dad, all because you couldn't accept that I love women? Well fuck this. I can forgive all that tax fraud crap, but I can never forgive you for this."

And with that, I storm out of the prison and out of his life.

* * *

I stride out of the prison yard with Arizona two steps behind me, and I am seething. I am so utterly disenfranchised with my father, and that last thread of hope has been violently shredded. I am walking without much thought to where I am headed, as long as it is in the opposite direction to that man.

"Estupido bastardo mahista. Saben que? Yo soy quien soy y que t necesitan su aprobacion," I growl, flailing my arms for dramatic emphasis. I don't even realise I've lapsed into Spanish until Arizona grabs my arm and spins me around to face her, a confused expression adorning her face. She opens her mouth to say something but then a look I can't discern comes over her face.

"Cal, I left my jacket inside, I'm just gonna pop back inside and meet you in the car, ok?" she says before placing a gentle kiss on my cheek and turning to re-enter the prison.

I head to the car, seething, but after twenty minutes I have calmed down somewhat. On some level, I've known this was coming. I knew how much drama I caused when I dated Ann, my first girlfriend, and I knew that the issue would eventually rear its ugly head and explode the pretty bubble I was naively pretending to live in. Although I am sad about the loss of my family, I feel strangely calm. As I gently finger the tiny stuffed panda that Arizona bought me on a whim at the airport, I realise that she is why. I may have lost my family, but she brings a smile to my face and my insides to flutter erratically whenever I lay eyes on her. Even after a year, she still causes goosebumps to erupt on my skin with a single touch. The two times we've kissed have been the most electrifying experiences of my life. She eyes me with undisguised lust but because I said I wasn't ready, she is patiently waiting. I may have lost my family, but for the past year, she has been my everything.

Suddenly, I realise she's been inside for nearly half an hour and I start to worry. How long does it take to grab a jacket? Visiting hours are over anyway, so my mind is drawing a blank. Concerned, I hop out of the car and without a moment's hesitation, head back inside. As I walk past the security guard at the entrance, he jerks his head backwards towards the cafeteria.

"Look, your little spitfire girlfriend stood here and argued until we let her back in to see Carlos, but go get her. It's against regulation, and I shouldn't have given in, but she wore me down. So go get her out," he states with a raised eyebrow, pointing over his shoulder. My confusion increases exponentially, and I'm fearful as to what dad is possibly saying to her. My stomach tightens as I stride into the cafeteria, but I stop short at the sight. My father is slumped back against his chair as Arizona leans threateningly across the table, one hand gracing her hip as the other points angrily in his direction.

"Oh, stop defending her. I don't know you well enough to talk about her. We're not going to do that," he sneers, but his face, oddly, looks scared as she leans even closer across the table intimidatingly.

"Most people think I was named for a state, but it's not true. I was named for a battleship. The U.S.S. Arizona. My grandfather was serving on the Arizona when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, and he saved 19 men before he drowned. Pretty much everything my father did his whole life was about honouring that sacrifice. I was raised to be a good man in a storm. Raised me to love my country. To love my family. To protect the things I love. When my father – Colonel Daniel Robbins, the United States Marine Corp – heard that I was a lesbian, he said he had only one question. I was prepared for, how fast can you get the hell out of my house? But instead it was, are you still who I raised you to be? My father believed in country the way that you believe in God. And my father is not a man who bends, but he bent for me because I'm his daughter. I'm a good man in a storm. I love your daughter. And I protect the things I love. Not that I need to, she doesn't need it. She's strong, and caring, and honourable. She's who you raised you to be," Arizona finishes, staring down at him with a level glare.

I am shocked into silence, but sadly, my father is not.

"I am not as weak as your father, and I did not raise her to defy God and fall into sin," he spits.

Arizona steps back, and the look on her face is one of sadness.

"No, she certainly isn't who you raised her to be. She isn't bigoted, and she loves her family no matter what crap they throw her way, unlike you. I don't give a crap what you think about me, but I will _not_ let you hurt Calliope. I have before, and I will never forgive myself for that, but I am going to spend the rest of my life proving to her that she is an amazing creature, and I am lucky to be in her life, in whatever capacity she wants me. So do not _dare_ contact her again unless you are grovelling an apology," Arizona growls, before turning around and stopping dead still at the sight of me, leaning against the doorframe. She looks contrite; guilty. I grab her arm and pull her forcefully from the room, out past the guard and past the gates.

"Callie, I am so sorry, I didn't mean to go behind your back, but I couldn't bear the sight of you in so much pain. I wanted him to realise how amazing you are – I mean, he raised you, and you are miraculous, who couldn't see that? And I just wanted to – I mean, I couldn't stand by, and-"

"Arizona?" I growl, pushing her against the nearby wall and halting her adorable rambling.

"Yes?" she whispers unsteadily, looking uncertainly up at me.

"Shut up and kiss me," I murmur and my lips descend upon hers with a ferocity that even astounds me. My tongue trails across her lips as she hurriedly acquiesces and parts them, allowing my tongue entrance. One of my hands has both her wrists pinned above her, against the wall, whilst the other trails up and down her side, settling upon her hip and pulling her even closer against me. One of my knees is pressed between her slightly open thighs, and she lets out a moan as I raise it slightly and push even closer. My hand slowly releases hers and drifts down to curl in her cascading blonde locks as I do what I have wanted to do for over a year. Immediately her hands encircle my body and pull me impossibly closer. Eventually, reluctantly, I pull my lips from hers as she lets out a sigh of disappointment. Her hands never leave my body so we remain pressed flush against each other.

"God, I have wanted to do that for so long," I smile a crooked grin and allow my thumb to caress her jaw carefully.

"So does this – I mean, I know that's happened before, kindof accidentally, but now its – I thought you were mad? But does this mean – are we –" Arizona is red, blushing, and seven kinds of adorable.

"Words, Arizona. Use your words," I tease as a finger plays across her swollen lips.

"Does this mean that you want to – " she trails off, still apparently unable to articulate her thoughts. I decide to take pity on her.

"Arizona, I want to be with you. You already know you're my everything, and I just need you, in every possible capacity. Will you go out with me?" I say, unaccountably nervous and I'm not quite sure why.

A resonant smile spills across her face, and her eyes light up. My favourite dimples on full display.

"Yes, Calliope, oh very much yes," she beams, before leaning in and capturing my lips in another kiss.

I pull away and grab her wrist, tugging her back towards the car.

"Where are we going? I was rather enjoying that particular patch of wall," Arizona whines peevishly.

I spin around and once again pin her, this time against the exterior of my rented Hyundai.

"Because, Miss Robbins, I figure that over the course of the past year, and all our dinners, and movies, and sleepovers, we have very much gone past the three date rule requisite for propriety. Therefore I plan to ravish you, over and over and over again, in the hotel room we booked. Until your limbs are aching, you're moaning my name into my ear, and you are so completely undone you don't even care about the fact the neighbours can hear your screams of ecstasy . Unless you have any objections?" I ask innocently. Her eyes have darkened to a fiery navy, and her breathing has become increasingly shallow.

"Lead the way."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Man, real life has a real tendency to get in the way. I won't bore you, hope you enjoy**

* * *

**ARIZONA**

Dead silence.

Charged, silent air.

The tension is palpable; thick and cloying, pervading every inch of the rental car compartment. Callie has been driving solidly for half an hour, and has not uttered a solitary word since releasing me from her fiery grip against the hood. My arms, my waist, my neck are still burning from her touch, as if she has branded my skin. My legs are crossed, and the silence is not uncomfortable. It is electric. I turn my head and glance at her, taking the opportunity to study the smooth planes of her face unabashedly, for the first time without repercussions, real or imagined. My gaze traces the soft curls cascading recklessly out of her hastily constructed ponytail and haphazardly framing her face, alternating between a bronzed chocolate and darkened raven in the constant flashing of passing streetlights. Across to her wide open obsidian eyes, burning with a fiery intensity, staring unrelentingly into the night. Down the smooth expanse of her neck, the occasional freckle dotting the strong sinewy caramel curve. Through to hands clenched unnaturally tight against the steering wheel and fingers tapping a frantic tattoo against the wheel, the only testament to her internal frustration. Back to her softly defined clavicles, and to the soft swell encased in blue silk below. My breath hitches, and suddenly I realise it has been far too long since my hands have felt her beneath me. It has been long half hour.

It has been a long year.

Without my permission, my impatient fingers drift across to the drivers seat and settle upon her denim-clad knee. I love seeing Callie's legs encased in tight jeans, and this particular pair showcase her figure in a manner that's almost lovingly obscene, but for once I wish she was in a dress. So that I could feel her bare skin beneath my trembling fingers. Slowly, I trace the outline of her knee. My palm settles on the top of her thigh, just above the curve of her knee, and my fingers curl around to come to rest upon her inner thigh. I can't take it. My legs have been tightly crossed the entire trip, and my heart has been erratically beating to such a point I'm not quite sure I'm getting enough oxygen. I can't take it.

I push my hand down harder against her, and her grip tightens imperceptibly upon the steering wheel. I slide my hand up, inch by excruciating inch, her breathing becoming shakily louder. Suddenly my palm has nearly reached the apex of her thighs, and my fingers have stilled mere millimetres below the juncture of her jeans. I can feel the heat radiating from her, and I wonder just how autonomous and involuntary breathing truly is, because my lungs feel deprived of oxygen in this moment, and I cannot direct my energy or attention into rectifying that. Because that would involve detracting my energy from where it is currently focused. In the thousands of nerve endings in the fingertips of my left hand. Perilously close. I push my palm flat, harder, and my fingers are stroking insistently. Callie lets out a whimper, and the sound of something so delicate, so _soft,_ coming from the self-confessed badass next to me almost brings me undone.

I'm not entirely sure how long my hand has been tracing her outline, but without warning her hands are off the steering wheel, and she is leaning across me, all over me. The suddenness of the move doesn't allow me a moment to react, and my hand remains where it was, but her abrupt proximity pushes it hard, flush against her centre, and she bites her lip with a groan. She is practically in my lap, and I feel myself growing impossibly wetter.

"Calliope?" I breathe, not sure of where I am going, but needing to anchor myself. It comes out more like a question.

Her lips collide with mine with a startling intensity, and her hands drift down my torso, gliding over my hips, the curve of my ass, searching purposefully. I am lost in the taste of her. There is a loud click, and I am arching forward, suddenly unencumbered as I realise she was unclasping my seatbelt.

A half-smirk graces the corner of her mouth, and she strokes a finger gently across my tensed jaw.

"We're here."

With a start, I glance out the window and belatedly realise we're in the parking lot of a motel.

I let out a shaky breath I didn't realise I was holding. "Well, thank fuck for that," I manage to exhale, already teetering on the precipice of being completely and blissfully lost.

"Miss Robbins! Language! You never swear," Callie admonishes teasingly.

I jump out of the car and run to the driver's side, yanking the handle without preamble.

"Well, very desperate times can render such language necessary to properly construe the urgency of the situation, Miss Torres," I smirk back.

With a beatific smile, she grasps my hand and starts dragging me none too gently towards the flickering light of the entrance.

* * *

**CALLIE**

Every inch of my skin is pulsating almost uncomfortably. Begging for release. Begging for her. My senses feel heightened; desperate. On overdrive. I am tapping my foot hurriedly, almost angrily against the linoleum floor whilst the bored-looking receptionist taps far too slowly for my liking against the keyboard.

"The reservation is under what name?" she drawls, gum snapping against lipstick stained teeth.

"Torres," I state impatiently, but quickly tack on a smile, trying not to be excessively rude. It's not her fault I have the horny temperament of a fifteen year old boy at the moment due to over a year of slow burning sexual tension.

"That's with a T?" she mutters boredly.

I look at her in disbelief. "Uh.. yes. With a T."

"O?" She questions next after an indeterminable length of time.

I'm genuinely puzzled as to whether she is actively intending to piss me off, or if she really is this phonetically challenged.

"Yes," I state slowly.

After a further minute of silence, I assume she's gotten the grasp of it, finally. But once again, I'm too hasty.

"R?" she drawls, barely glancing up from the computer screen.

"Yep. Then another one following that. And an E and an S too," I snap impatiently. Arizona's hand is tracing soft, almost unconscious circles over the small of my back, and the buildup is unbearable.

An almost painful length of time later, she nods. "First name?"

"Calliope," I growl, and at her raised eyebrows, I yank the keyboard across the desk and punch in my name rapidly.

"There. Done. You need ID? Here." I shove my licence across the desk. "We done?"

Beside me, Arizona is shaking with silent laughter.

"Would you be interested in upgrading to a premier room, which for an additional 75 bucks has-"

"No," I cut her off, no longer concerned with appearing polite.

"Would you-" she starts again, still sounding unconscionably bored, and I'm done.

I lean forward across the desk, raise my eyebrow, and draw the word out threateningly. "NO."

She looks up, finally appearing to pay attention, and slides a key across the desk. "Enjoy your stay," she breathes out shakily.

"Thanks _so_ much," I say as I grab the key with an ingratiating smile.

I grasp Arizona's hand and drag her as quickly as I can manage towards the carpeted staircase.

"Now precisely which part of this situation is so funny?" I question as I pull her behind me, but I am stopped at the first floor landing as Arizona spins me around to face her and pushes my back forcefully against the wall. The look on her face stuns me into silence. Her eyes are as dark as the Pacific Ocean in the midst of a catastrophic storm, flashing and swirling with unspoken intensity. Her golden curls are haphazard; unkempt. Her lips are parted, and her breathing is slightly laboured.

"I'm not laughing, Calliope," she murmurs, before pushing herself flush against me and pulling me down for a desperate kiss. We stumble up the stairs, slowly and treacherously. Crashing repeatedly into the wall, the doors. Tripping over every step. Unable to part for even the thirty seconds requisite to walk without interruption to our room. Because it's been so long.

So long coming.

We are finally here, together, unencumbered. No words. No people. No barriers between us, for the first time in our relationship. And letting go of the contact, even for a second, means we wouldn't have the assurance that this is real. This is happening.

And.

It has been a year of torturous foreplay.

Her lips .. Her tongue. Her hands. The heat radiating from every inch of her. The way she breathes my name as if it is the only thing that means anything to her in this moment.

I'm on fire.

We finally reach the door to our room. I press her against it, hips flush against eachother, chests rising in uneven symphony. My mouth leaving her beautiful lips almost reluctantly, only so I can pepper languid open-mouthed kisses down the expanse of her neck. Tasting her. One hand stroking her ribs through the thin fabric of her shirt, whilst the other fumbles to put the key in the lock.

With a growl of frustration, I peel my body off the beautiful blonde and focus my attention on getting the key in the damn lock. Arizona is suddenly behind me, her breasts pushing deliciously against my back and her forearm wrapping possessively around my abdomen, playing with the hem of my shirt. My fingers are shaking.

"Calliope," she moans directly into my ear, her voice about two octaves lower than usual. Unravelling me with a single word.

Finally, with a desperate shove, the door is open and we are falling through. My eyes don't take in any of our surroundings. I can only take in the vision of Arizona, eyes closed, hands tightening around me. Alternately pulling at my clothes with an adorable impatience, or seeking out any area of bare skin to caress.

My knees hit the back of the bed, and she falls on top of me, her arms shaking with the exertion of holding herself above me.

"Let go," I whisper, and she tremblingly lowers herself flush against me. Her thigh slips in between mine, and I immediately groan at the contact. I am impossibly wet, ever since that first kiss against the prison wall, and her wandering hand in the car.

Her mouth immediately finds mine in the darkness, and she quickly asserts her dominance. I'm not complaining, but rather enjoying this assertive side of her. Her hands are tugging roughly at my shirt, pulling it off and staring at my exposed upper half with a look bordering on reverence. I feel uncomfortable under her discerning gaze, and quickly sit up to capture her lips once more, but she gently pushes me back down and remains straddling me, stroking her fingers with a featherlight touch along my abdomen, writhing and contracting underneath her skilful ministrations.

"Don't, Calliope. I want to see you," she murmurs, hands ghosting up past my bellybutton and across my ribs.

"God, you're beautiful," a finger stroking over the red lace of my bra, my nipples tightening painfully, noticeably, under her touch.

"So utterly exquisite," a touch snaking over the raised scar traversing my chest, tracing its progress deferentially before gliding over my collarbone. My breathing is shallow. My hands are grasping her upper thighs, pulling her down harder, almost painfully against my arching hips.

She is coated in a thin sheen of perspiration.

Her eyes are hooded with desire.

Her lips meet mine in a bruising kiss, and her hands are everywhere all at once.

Suddenly, unwelcomingly, she is no longer on top of me. In fact, she's about 5 feet away from me, standing on the sofa, shirt half unbuttoned and chest heaving delectably, but looking scared out of her mind.

"Arizona! What-" I trail off, unsure of what to go. Did I do something wrong? I'm all new to this, and maybe I'm not quite as good in this area as she's used to.

Her eyes go wide, and she is pointing a shaking finger at expanse of bed next to me she was previously occupying. I turn and immediately emit an uncharacteristic girly shriek and jump off the bed, flinging myself onto the sofa next to her.

"Fuck! What is that, a tarantula?" I yell, my voice still uncomfortably high pitched.

"Calliope, I'm not quite sure this place is – up to standard," she says hesitantly. "Up to – any standard. Ever. Have you actually looked?" she questions gently, and I have a look at my surroundings for the first time.

The curtains are a musty, stained yellow. The bathroom tiles are cracked and stained with an indeterminate reddish-brown discolouration. The upholstery is patched beyond comprehension, and a cockroach swarms across the expanse illuminated by the solitary lightbulb swinging precariously from the ceiling and flicking intermittently. I shudder.

"Wanna go sleep in the car?" Arizona murmurs against my ear. I can only nod. She grabs her sweater from her bag and carefully pulls it over me, making me realise I'm still shirtless. I raise an eyebrow questioningly.

"I love that shirt on you an indecent amount, but I am not brave enough to retrieve it from Mr Tarantula. And I don't want anyone else seeing these," she mutters, indicating my chest. "That's a viewing pleasure reserved for me only."

* * *

We are lying on the backseat of the rental car, my back against the leather upholstery and Arizona curled up against me. My hand rests against prominent hip bones, tracing gentle nonsensical shapes.

Not at all how I envisioned this night proceeding.

Away from the scary 'hostel'-like vibe of our ill-advised motel room, my insecurities have returned full force.

What if the reason we stopped, was because I wasn't doing it right?

What if the reason she left, is because she had built me up so much in her head, that the reality didn't suffice?

What if my inexperienced hands weren't eliciting the same levels of primal pleasure in her as hers were in me?

She's had girlfriends before. She has experience. I may be a rockstar with a suture kit or a cocktail shaker, but this – I don't know what I'm doing.

What if.

At some point during my internal struggle, I've rotated so that my face is no longer pressed between her shoulderblades, and there is a sliver of space between our bodies. My hand has stopped tracing her skin, and is instead settled awkwardly upon her, still and unmoving, as if its presence is an unwelcome intrusion.

"Hey, where'd you go?" Arizona hums gently, intertwining my hand with hers and stroking soothingly.

I close my eyes. There's no point telling her about my self-confidence or lack thereof. Besides .. a part of me doesn't want to know. Doesn't want to see her eyes dart around the interior of the car while unconvincing lies fall out of her still swollen lips. Don't want to know that I'm right. That I'm inadequate. That I'm not good enough for her. Yes, I decide, much better not to share any of that.

"Do you still want to have sex with me?" I blurt out. Oh, god. Way to keep it smooth and stick with the plan.

Arizona looks perplexed.

"I mean- was I bad? Am I – I know I haven't done this before. I mean I've done _stuff, _just not all the stuff. And maybe I'm not as good as your last girlfriend, but shouldn't I get some sort of grace period? I'm a fast learner, and .. You know what, it's really not fair to decide that I'm going to be crap! You can't judge me, when I'm sure –" I am cut off by her hands grasping my chin and her lips gently connecting with mine. Passionate, but still chaste. She pulls away and settles so she her legs are encasing one of my thighs, and gives me a gentle slap to the chest.

"Ow! What was that for?" I whine sullenly.

"Calliope, you're an idiot." She sighs affectionately. "I very much still want to be with you. More than anything. You feel this?" she grasps my palm and places it underneath her shirt, against her chest. Over her heart. "It is racing like this, because of you. This?" Her fingers encircle my wrist and drag my hand down, brushing against the silk of her bra, hardened tips evident through the fabric. I suppress a moan. "This happens every time you kiss me. And this?" She pushes her hips down hard against my thigh, and even through my jeans, I can feel the heat of her arousal. "This is what happens when you touch me." My eyes have fluttered closed, but her words wash over me, her lips mere centimetres from my ear. "I want you, Calliope. I want to run my hands all over you. I want to feel every inch of you. I want to taste you. Upstairs tonight, I was so turned on I couldn't think straight. But you are miraculous, Calliope. I've thought that since the first moment I saw you. And now that we finally have a chance to be together, there are no barriers.. I want it to be special. I want to appreciate you the way you deserve to be appreciated, without the potential for a trip to the hospital from poisonous insect bites or unsanitary bedsheets. Tomorrow night, I am going to light candles, and pick up some ridiculously expensive wine, and put on some Barry White, and ravish you. I want you, but I don't want our first time like this," she states gently, placing a kiss against the corner of my mouth.

I settle back down into the seat, pulling her close against me once again.

I am an idiot.

* * *

**ARIZONA**

I'm nervous.

I'm not quite sure why, but my heart is beating erratically against my ribcage, and I am edgy. Last night, I was overtaken with desire. I was confident. I was ready to finally succumb. To her. To everything about her. Until I saw the state of the our accommodation, and realised that no matter how turned on I was, how much my body ached for her, this was not the night I wanted to remember.

But now, not lost in the heat of the passion and the moment, I'm nervous. Callie's fears have come back to haunt me. What if I, the so called "experienced" one, failed to deliver? I ached for her constantly. One look from her and I'm already flustered and turned on. She could raise an eyebrow at me and my shirt would probably pop off.

There's a knock at my door, and before I can quite compose myself, she is there. A strapless, fiery red dress hugging her curves and beautiful white smile on full display. Bottle of Merlot in her hand. My stomach flutters. She kisses me, softly, with a whispered "hello, gorgeous" and my fears evaporate.

Her eyes are clenched shut.

Her hand is fisting the sheet below.

A thin sheen of sweat coats her well defined abs, contracting with exertion.

Her lips are against my jaw, my neck, my chest.

Her legs are tensing and undulating, arching up off the bed in waves.

My knee is pressed against her centre. My lips trace across her chest. Down between the valley of her breasts, across her abdomen. Loving the feeling of her breathless moans underneath me. Her hands over my shirtless back, nails scraping unconsciously.

She is whimpering, louder, gutturally, over and over.

She flips me, without warning, so that she is on top. I succumb to her ministrations, glorious mouth tracking across my chest, heading towards where I want her to be, and I sit up to meet her and reach back to unclasp my bra.

But.

I miscalculated. And my double bed does not allow for great feats of gymnastics. Callie falls onto the floor, her shoulder hitting my bedside table with a painful thump. And she doesn't sit up.

I hurriedly climb onto the floor next to her and pull her upright, hands frantically retracing their path but with far less sexiness.

"Oh god, Cal, I'm so sorry! I was trying to be smooth, and now this, I – it's like the first time I met you! When I hit you in the face, oh god, and now – it's your shoulder, isn't it? Oh my god, I hit your bad shoulder, and – do you want to go to ER? I'm not usually this accident prone, or inflict this much – I –"

I'm silenced with a gentle kiss.

"Baby, don't stress. Your rambling is utterly adorable, but I'm fine. Just going to have to ice it and limit movement. Which kinda puts a dampener on any .. extracurricular activities," she mutters with an apologetic grimace.

I feel awful, and suddenly unsure. "Can you.. will you stay? Just sleep the night? With me?" I spit out, avoiding her eyes.

She pulls me to my feet and collapses on the bed, immediately pulling me to her with her good arm. I settle my head on her chest and sling my legs over hers, still feeling inordinately guilty. And horny. But mostly guilty.

"Stop blaming yourself, love," she whispers knowingly. "But Ari?"

"Yes?" I whisper, snuggling closer.

"Tomorrow night. My place. I want you so badly right now, it's physically painful. I don't care if the world falls off its axis, an entire colony of arachnids invades Seattle, or I break a bone. I am ravishing you senseless."

* * *

This is beyond ridiculous.

After an amazing home cooked meal of chicken piccata, the cooking of which I helped (or hindered, according to Callie), we're finally here.

In Callie's bed.

After dinner, she shyly bit her lip and pulled me to her bedroom door before kissing me gently, tenderly. I pushed her against the doorframe, gratified to hear her moan. Wrapping one leg around her waist before collapsing onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and sighs. Reverently unzipping her elegant black dress. Sliding the zipper down the side of her torso, torturously slowly, as her eyes grew impossibly darker. Arched my back as my eyes rolled to the back of my head as those lips descended upon my neck, ghosting over my satin v-neck blouse. Teeth grasping the hem and pulling it up and over my head. Her tongue tracing my sternum, a rib, the lacy rise of my sky blue bra. Hands tracing my hipbones, unbuttoning my jeans and shimmying down my thighs. The throb of electricity and pulsating skin as she settled above me, naked aside from our underwear. Legs sliding, chests heaving. Her lips, everywhere. Her hand, inching lower and lower across my tightening abdomen. Gently stroking along the top of my underwear, before inching underneath. Tracing closer, gloriously closer. Arching up. Panting. Moans.

Desire.

Unclasping her emerald green lace bra and sliding it down her toned arms, exposing her glorious chest. Palming the full flesh in my hand, tracing across its tightening peak and shuddering at her rapid intake of breath. Mouth sliding across the caramel skin, tongue tracing a hardened nipple and revelling in whimpered groans ripped from her throat, reverberating against my open mouth. Tossing the garment somewhere behind me, belatedly recognising the unwelcome sound of an opening door.

"Callie, I'm sorry but I ate your desert. Actually, I'm not. It was like an orgasm in my mouth. Do you-" Cristina's voice stops as she takes in the scene in front of her. Callie, clad only in her underwear, straddling a similarly undressed me. Her hand, frozen at the periphery of our final barrier. My face buried between her glorious cleavage. Callie's bra, flung haphazardly across the room, landing on a disgruntled Cristina.

I groan, and pull the sheet up to cover me entirely. I bury my face into the pillow.

God hates me.

Cristina's voice sounds gleeful and amused. "Well fuck me sideways, looks like someone else is having an orgasm in their mouth. About time. But no sexy times tonight, because I have a neurology lab tomorrow, and I gotta study. So McPerkyTits is gonna have to wait til tomorrow, because my to-do list is more important and time sensitive than what's on yours."

I feel Callie slide off me and I adjust the sheet to peek out at the unfolding scene. Callie snatches up a robe from behind her door and storms out into the living room after an amused Cristina.

"Get out," Callie snarls.

Cristina merely snorts.

Callie picks up Cristina's textbooks, phone, and writing material, and throws it into the hallway unceremoniously.

"What the actual fuck, Cal?" Cristina snarls from the couch. The Latina grabs Cristina's arm and starts dragging her to the doorway.

"It has been a year of stolen glances and loaded touches. We have had injuries, and spiders, and hell knows what else stand in our way. I am so turned on that if you do not get out of this apartment, I will throw you out a window, because by the time the police get here to arrest me for homicide, I will be satiated and won't give a damn. So go to Meredith's, go to the library, go to the bar, I couldn't care less. But do not be here."

The door slams and sixty seconds later Callie appears in the doorway, a predatory look adorning her face. She is looking at me so hungrily, so primally, that my legs clench as I throb harder than I thought possible.

"I don't care if there are no candles. No music. I have wanted you for so long, and I can't wait any longer," she growls.

She drops the robe, and somewhere along the line she has gotten rid of the last remaining barrier.

Callie stands before me, completely naked in the doorway, her eyes black with desire.

I drop the sheet from my chest and pull her onto the bed.


End file.
